Something About Her
by arw2
Summary: When Sidney Crosby's new teammate, James Neal, invited him to a summer conditioning camp, he hoped to get his skating legs back after far too long without hockey. He did not expect his life to change forever and isn't sure he wants it to...
1. Chapter 1

*_Disclaimer: I started this story at the beginning of the summer, before the tragedies with Locomotive and the drug/alcohol related deaths/suicides of NHLers and struggled with whether or not i should continue and post it. I decided to go ahead because i really like the story. I hope nobody is offended by the story line or my decision to do so. This story is based on my own knowledge of the KHL and struggles of hockey players. I hope you like it! _**  
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**Chapter One**

_Dear Diary, _

_It's days like this when I wish I had picked up the gun in Charlie's hands and shot myself too… there is no two ways about it, that bastard left me in hell. His sister is out of control and his dad can barely put together a sentence. If his brothers were worth anything or had a pair of balls between them, they would say something to her. Sometimes I think I should just give up, sell my portion of the school and leave. Nobody wants me here anyway. The only reason I'm here is to act like everything is okay, not freak out the clients and lets face it, most of them are still only coming to this god forsaken place to support me and keep Charlie's memory alive…_

"Elizabeth! Did you get those rooms set up? Where are you?" I hear Angie, Charlie's sister, screaming down the hall.

"I'm almost done! I just needed a break! I'll finish in a sec!" I yell back at her. My therapist says that whenever I have thoughts like this, I should write it down and write down what made me feel that way. I hate writing it down, it makes me feel unprotected. I have exuded a lot of energy into creating a tough exterior and this goes against every instinct I have at protecting that.

"Jesus Christ Liz! Get on with it!" She pops her head around the corner of the East wing common room and stands like a 1950's housewife with her hands on her hips. She's the same age as me and tries to act like my mom, it's so unbelievably frustrating, I want to scream.

"I said I would do it… I'll do it!" I offer back sternly. I am clearly not in the mood for her crap.

"Seriously, sometimes I think you don't give a rat's ass about this place! We have a full house coming in and I need you to pull your weight around here!"

"Don't pull that shit on me! You know I love this place! This is all I have left of him!"

"Then maybe you should act like it. I can't be the only one doing any work." Funny, cause I was wondering what she actually did around here, other then answer the phone and flirt with the hockey players that pass through.

"Just get out of my face," I hiss and stomp off. Back to changing sheets. Bad economy and increased competition equals cut backs, even when you main clientele is millionaire hockey players, meaning we had to let go of our cleaning lady. Guess whose job that became? I'll give you one guess.

I hate changing sheets of teenage boys. Our last session here at the Charles Ross Pro Hockey Training School was a major junior team looking to do some off season training, team building and fitness testing. Twenty eight boys, in twenty eight beds means a lot of knuckle children to peel off these poor unfortunate mattresses. So gross. Needless to say, I wear rubber gloves to change sheets. Industrial strength.

Our upcoming session should be much better. It's a conditioning camp for pro's. Basically a collection of my deceased husband's friends, from a variety of leagues, come in to re-learn how to skate after too much beer and golf in the off season. When they aren't working out, they are sitting around telling stories about Charlie and reminiscing about the _'__good __times_'. The good times being basically all the times before he went to Afghanistan and came back with PTSD and shot himself in the face. Nobody talks about that. It's the giant elephant in the room. It's an emotional week for me, to say the least.

_*buzz*buzz*_

I reach into my pocket and pull out my ringing cell phone. Good thing it's on silent or Angie would be in here yelling at me some more. I think she went down to the office where she pretends to work but I know she is just catching up on TMZ.

"Hey Jamie. What's goin' on?" I greet one of Charlie's old junior teammates.

"Hey, Lizzie. Not much. How are you?" I hear on the other end.

"I'm… I'm good," I respond with a lie. I know nobody really wants to know how I am doing. Angie is always telling me to act happy and like things are going great because athletes don't want to be around someone miserable.

"That's great, that's really good to hear." I wait through the awkward pause on the other end of the phone. "Listen, the reason I'm calling is that, I'm coming up for a session tomorrow…"

"Oh yeah? That's great! It'll be good to see you," I respond happily just like I am told to. It's not hard. Jamie is one of the good guys. Sometimes I actually think he cares.

"Yeah, you too. I can't wait for some of your cooking," Jamie laughs. He has a warm laugh and I always had a little crush on him. But of course, I was Charlie's girl from day one and you don't mess around with your teammate's girl.

"Any special requests?" I ask.

"I love everything you make, you know that," He offers and I can practically see his smile through the phone.

"Okay, well if you think of something, I am finishing the menu tonight and shopping tomorrow, so don't be afraid to call or text or whatever… what time do you get in?"

"Um, I think my flight leaves Pearson at 10 but there might be a change in plans and that's kinda the reason I'm calling…"

"Oh? What's up?" I tuck the phone between my shoulder and my ear and peel back a set of sheets, that make a kind of cracking noise as they come up off the bed. I have to muffle the sound of my gagging, so Jamie can't hear. I don't think guys want to think about what other guys did in the bed before them.

"I gotta teammate," He begins.

"You got traded didn't you?" It's so hard to keep up sometimes.

"Yeah, to Pittsburgh…"

"Right, right… how's that goin'?" I drop the sheets into the laundry basket in the middle of the room and move onto the room's second bed.

"It's good, real great… well not so much this year, but it will be - next year…" I can hear the hesitation in Jamie's voice replaced by determination and confidence. "Anyways, I gotta teammate that wants to join me tomorrow and I was just wondering if you guys have room in the session or if you could maybe squeeze one more in?"

"Well, I don't handle the bookings but I am sure that we can make room. I could go talk to Angie…" I accidentally let out a low groan at the mention of her name.

"Do you want me to call her? I can probably dig up the number here somewhere," Jamie offers, picking up my hesitation.

"If you don't mind… it might be easier then me finding her around here. And I've got a lot to do…" I look ominously at the over flowing laundry basket.

"Sure I don't mind. I guess I'll see you tomorrow one way or another," He offers before we say our good bye's. I know the guys just come to be nice but sometimes I imagine me not being here, so they don't have to.

-.-

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Oh my god! What's wrong? Are you okay? Is it Dad, what's going on?" I rush down the hall from the laundry room to the office. Angie is sitting behind the large desk gripping the sides of the desk. It looks like she can't breathe. That would be a shame…

"Sidney… fucking… Crosby…" She offers gasping for air between each word.

"Is a really good hockey player…" I offer with a laugh. Did I just interrupt an orgasm? Was she watching Sidney Crosby porn? Should I leave her alone to finish up? I am not changing her sheets…

"Um yeah! And he's coming _HERE_!" She screams at me, as she jumps to her feet.

"What?" I am floored.

"Tomorrow! With James! They are team mates you know!" Angie rolls her eyes at me, as if I was somehow supposed to have read her mind.

"Yeah, I guess… it never actually occurred to me…"

"It never _OCCURRED_ to you? It _never __occurred_ to you? That's why you could never run this place! You don't know how to market! You need to pay attention to things like that! You should have been on it! You should have called James the second he was traded and extended the invitation!" Right, because what I want is to guilt _more_ guys into coming to this shit hole. Charlie would roll over in his grave if he saw the condition it was in. He worked his whole life to save this school – and his sister is letting it fall apart. He would be far too embarrassed to bring his buddies here given the conditions, never mind a star athlete like Sidney Crosby.

"If it wasn't for me nobody would be coming here anymore, so don't tell me what to do!"

"I _will_ tell you what to do because I own just as much of this place as you do and unlike you, I am doing something!" Angie spit out. "Oh my God, if we could get an endorsement from an athlete like that… we would be set!"

An endorsement? From Sidney Crosby? Yeah, that would be amazing, but I wouldn't hold my breath. Angie began explaining the new room arrangements that would have to be made, moving some of the guys out to the cabins and reorganizing the main building so Crosby could have some personal space. She didn't want some of the 'lesser' players to cramp him and harass him for autographs.

"I wouldn't worry about that…" I tried to explain. "Hockey players aren't like that. They'll probably leave him alone and treat him like everyone else. And I doubt Crosby would want you going to all the trouble of changing all the plans…"

"Jesus Liz! The guys a superstar! He expects a certain level of accommodation and this school is going to provide that!"

"Fine whatever… I'm just saying…"

"Well don't just _say_! Go and do!" Angie barked her father's famous orders. I used to laugh every time Charlie's dad would yell it but now I find myself grinding my teeth in frustration. "And Elizabeth? Don't fuck this up!"


	2. Chapter 2

_*Okay, you may have to read this chapter a couple times to get all the info. I apologize if that's annoying. I decided to throw all the background out there at once... kinda like taking a new boyfriend to a family holiday meal. You want them to understand everything, so they don't end up stuck in a conversation with your crazy Uncle Brian. or maybe that's just me...**  
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**Chapter Two**

"Hey man," Sid stands up and greets me as I step on the plane.

"Hey!" I extend my fist and we begin the complicated new fist bump greeting. Every team has their own pattern and I never thought I would have to learn a new one but I guess that's how this business works. "Private plane… very nice…"

"Yeah well, gotta avoid airports…" He shrugs as if it's nothing.

"Ah poor superstar, gets asked for his autograph everywhere he goes!" I gotta chirp the guy, even though I know what he means and don't think for a second it's something he wants. I have only seen a brief second of his stardom in Pittsburgh and I can't imagine how out of control it is in Canada.

"Yeah well, you'll see… it gets a whole lot less fun after awhile," He brushes it off.

"Whatever, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't complain…" That's a lie.

Sid laughs and blows it off. I am sure he's heard it from every newbie to the team. The truth is I am looking forward to playing in a market that will recognize it's hockey players but I am also a bit nervous. In Dallas I just blended in as another skinny white guy but in Pittsburgh, I got heckled for my lack of production in the grocery store… I was buying yams, like, back off people.

"So tell me about this place…" Sid asks, while we take seats on the plane. "…this Charles Ross Hockey School…"

"Um, well I've been gonna there since I was a kid. A teammate of mine, Charlie Ross, from junior, his family runs it…"

"The school named after him?"

"No, no… his great grandfather was Charles Ross, an old time hockey guy. Played for the Winnipeg Falcons I think… won an Olympic Gold medal. His grandfather played for the Leafs, his dad played for Chicago, I think… I dunno, it's hard to keep track… It's a big family of hockey players, all the way up to Charlie, every one of them. Charlie was the oldest of five kids – four boys and a girl, the girl is the only one who doesn't play but she could probably take you. She's a bitch but I guess growing up with four brothers, ya gotta be right?"

"No kidding… shit," Sid laughs. He has one sister and I have one brother so neither of us can comprehend a big family's dynamics.

"So yeah, Charlie and I played junior together and every summer he would invite the whole team up for some training and partying. It was always a good time until…" I stop.

"Until?" Sid prods.

"Well until Charlie – it's a long story…" I never really like talking about it. I'm not that emotional of a guy but when I talk about Charlie, I have to bite back the tears. I doubt anyone who knew him feels any different.

"Well, we've got two hours…" Sid points out the obvious.

"I don't know if two hours cuts it but… you should probably know before we get there, it might be important to understand…" That way when a big group of growing men start crying like five year old girls, he won't judge... or maybe judge less... that might be all I can hope for.

"You're kinda freakin me out. What kinda place you takin' me to?"

"No! The place is great," I assure him. "It's a bit run down over the years but, there's just, a lot of emotion."

"Okay… so what happened?" Sid asked, his voice cautious but intent. I take a deep breath and debate how much I want to tell him. I could give him the short version but if I know Sid, the questions that follow will take longer then just telling the long version. He'll want to know every detail, so I might as well just give it up all at once.

"Okay, so my buddy, Charlie, was like the best skater, man. He was fast, could handle the puck. You never knew where he was going until the rubber was in the back of the net. You might have actually met him or played against him, or for sure you did, what am I saying? He's just a year older then us. I think he went like 7th or 8th in the draft or something like that. Top ten for sure. I wasn't really paying attention but we were all proud. We knew he would be great, ya know? He was just one of those guys, you could just tell…"

Sid nods. We all know a guy like that. Fuck, Sid _was_ a guy like that.

"Anyways, he got drafted but with the lockout, he couldn't play and the family really needed the money for the school and to help pay for his three other brothers gear and shit," I pause and try to imagine the pressure Charlie was under. I just can't – never could. "I mean the pressure he was under was intense. He had to play. He had no choice. The KHL offered him a beauty of a contract, so off he went, right? Like everyone did. I guess that was part of the problem…" I pause and reflect. A lot of guys flooded the K. Bad things were bound to happen. Sid just nods again, listening to every word. The guy is so intense.

"So, Charlie is over in St. Petersburg with all these other Canadian and American kids just looking to play and the Russians, man, they are pissed because all these guys are coming over and taking their jobs, so they are going to prove a point right? Charlie's first shift - this huge nasty Russian, could have been fuckin' Ovechkin for all we know, fuckin' douche, comes and puts his stick right up under the back of his helmet and shoves him into the boards, head first." I use my hands and demonstrate the motion. I've watched the video a hundred times and it makes me ill every time I see it.

"Charlie tries to shake it off but… he can't get up off the ice. The guys help him to the bench where he sits for a couple of minutes and then they send him back out for another shift. The guy is clearly fucked up and they sent him back out!" I clench my fists. "Sure enough, same thing happens again. This time Charlie is out cold, lying on the ice for like 30 seconds before they even stop play. They woke him up and put him on the bench, cause clearly he's just a whiny Canadian right? Fuckers."

I take a minute and look out the window, as the plane levels out in the middle of the sky.

"Was he okay?" Sid asks, a look of concern in his eyes. Maybe telling him the rest of the story isn't a good idea given the current condition of his brain. The story of Charlie Ross has the furthest thing from a happy ending. It's not a story that is shared a lot – maybe it should be…

"He never played again." I explain point blank. I know Sid and everyone around him is worried about his brain and its apparent slow healing process but the truth is – he could be way worse off and he needs to know it. "Every time Charlie would see light he would puke, never mind an ice surface…So what did they do with him, our friendly Russian friends? They just sent him home and brought in another out of work foreigner…"

"Shit."

"Yeah," I nod. Sid gets it. We all heard horror stories about playing in the K. "He came home, saw tonnes of doctor's but nothing… he was just never better…"

"So he came home and worked at the hockey school?" Sid asked.

"Not exactly," I shake my head. I wish the story ended there. "His dad – well – his dad told him not to go to Russia in the first place, because his dad, like all Canadian hockey players of the generation, hated Russians. Like, seriously hated Russians! He wanted him to go to Sweden or Switzerland or something but the Russian contract was the best. So then when Charlie came home he was pissed at him for letting them hurt him and… I mean, if you thought your dad was strict, you've got nothing on this guy… It's amazing he didn't kill himself then…"

"_Whoa what_? He killed himself?" Sid sat up straight and looks at me with wide eyes.

"Yeah…" This is where the story really starts to suck. "After he basically gave up on ever being able to play hockey again, Charlie mopped. It was bad. I couldn't be around him. Nobody could. It was scary man. Facing the possibility of that being your future is fucking scary. I just backed off. A lot of guys did. I feel like shit about it…"

I cover my face and take another deep breath. To this day, I keep thinking what if… what if we didn't all back away? What if we actually stood by his side like fucking teammates should have? Maybe we could have helped him…

"His dad snapped and told him he had to do something useful with his life and then… and then the next thing we know, Charlie has signed up with the Forces, to be, like, in the fuckin' army. We were blown away. I mean, I think the most surprised of anyone was Charlie's girlfriend, Lizzie. She was in university, and I mean, these two had been together _forever_. I don't ever remember them not being together. I think he totally blindsided her with that. I mean, I'm sure she thought that she was going to have a life as a NHLer's wife, not a soldier's wife and I think we can both agree those are pretty fucking different. I mean don't get me wrong, Lizzie wasn't like that, ya know? She didn't care about money, or fame or any of that shit… it's just _really_ different. But she stood by him, through everything! Bloody saint…"

"He went through training and everything and then out of nowhere, I get this phone call, inviting me to a wedding. I'm thinkin' Lizzies' knocked up or something but no... Charlie is leaving for _Afghanistan_. He said there was good money in it, tax free, would keep the school alive until his brothers get NHL contracts and I was like, dude, it's a warzone! You're gonna die! Not worth it man!"

"But he went, ya' know, did his thing. We were all happy that he made it home alive but I guess… I guess a part of him died there… whatever was left of him," I pause again. Shit, I hate talking about this. "The next phone call I got was an invite to his funeral. He shot himself. In his kitchen. Said he couldn't live bringing everyone else down."

"We all went to his funeral, all the guys from junior, everyone. Some of us took it harder then others… I was shit kicked. I couldn't believe it. And there's Lizzie, she was in a state of shock, I mean just blank faced, no emotion, white as a sheet. All through the ceremony, nothing. Not a tear, not a sniffle. We get to the reception, eating those little tea sandwiches that everyone hates, but they always serve, and someone, I think it was Mike Richards, went up to her to offer his condolences and she snapped. I mean _snapped_! She was yelling at everyone, for abandoning him, for walking away when he needed his friends the most, for ignoring the signs. They had to escort her out. They had to escort her out of her own husband's funeral…"

"Why was Richards there?" Sid asked, not even trying to hide his distaste for Flyers captain. It's no secret that the two hate each other. They may have won a Gold medal together but I heard that they never spoke. Not once - throughout the whole Olympics. Both of them are pretty intense guys, so I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when the two were forced to sit through a meeting together.

"Um, they grew up together. They were really tight, him and Charlie, best friends I think…"

"Hmm…" Sid nodded his understanding.

"It was intense…"

"So what happened to the girl?" Sid asked. I knew I couldn't leave out any detail because if anyone is going to catch a missing detail – it will be Sidney Crosby – concussion or not.

"She inherited Charlie's share of the hockey school, so she works there. She dropped out of university to help take care of the place, after the brothers basically bailed and the dad became just a shell of a man. He just wanders and doesn't make coherent sentences anymore. She's been in a fight with Veteran's Affairs, since he died, to get some sort of compensation. I guess he was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder after Afghanistan but they are claiming that he had pre-existing depression due to the concussion he sustained and post-concussion symptoms, so they don't want to pay or take blame. I dunno... again it's complicated, right?"

"Wow this girl has gotten the shit end of the stick." Sid is clearly beginning to understand.

"That's why a big group of us go down every year. Show our support, do what we can," I explain. Originally Sid invited me to come to Cole Harbour and work out at his rink but I just couldn't not go to the Ross' school.

"And the brothers?" Sid asked, catching another missing detail of my story.

"Well Charlie was the oldest, then the sister, who helps run the place. Then his first brother, didn't get drafted. He plays college hockey somewhere but he developed a bit of drinking and debauchery habit and basically hasn't surfaced in years. His next brother was drafted in the eighth round last year, plays as a forth line duster somewhere, with next to no ice time and his youngest brother, is 16 and has the skills of Charlie but… kinda wasting them… he doesn't want to turn out like his brother…"

"Fair enough… that's a pretty good fear…" Sid offers quietly.

"The two youngest brothers work at the school but I don't really see them doing much. Mainly Lizzie runs around doing everything and the sister yells. If Lizzie weren't there, none of us would go…"

"Well, thanks for the heads up…" Sid leans back in his chair, taking it all in.

"Other then that, the place is great!" I laugh and Sid joins me cautiously. Other then the fact that one of the owners shot himself in the head, it's like paradise, I think sarcastically to myself. "In all seriousness though, lots of good memories at the place… Tennis court, gym, indoor ice that's a little questionable at times, especially on a hot day. I think there are like eight cabins that sleep four and then there is the main building with, like, dorm rooms. That's probably where we will be staying. It's not an intense camp but it's a good way to get your legs under you before you start working out like a mother fucker. They have trainers on staff and a pretty good drill coach and stuff. There's a beach within walking distance that's pretty awesome to cool off in for the afternoon and a great 18-hole golf course about a twenty minute drive…nothing necessarily bad about the place. Just needs some TLC that comes with some cash flow that they haven't seen in a while…"

"Sounds like a vacation…" Sid smiles reassuringly. Clearly his idea of a vacation and my idea of a vacation are very different. I picture naked girls on white sand beaches and he pictures line drills and shooting practice. Something is wrong with this guy.


	3. Chapter 3

****_*So? How about that game? holy crap! it is good to have our boy back! 4 points in his first game! Hopefully him being back will wipe away my momentary writers block on my other story! Merry Sid-mas everybody!_

**Chapter Three **

_Dear Diary, _

_I am going to punch that bitch in the face. I don't think this is what the therapist had in mind when he told me to write down what I am feeling but fuck it! He should be happy I am not pummelling her with rocks. Consider it progress! You wouldn't believe the budget she gave me for groceries! How am I supposed to feed 60 grown men for a week on this kind of money? I don't even want to tell Lucy because the old bat is going to go ape and I am sure I am going to get blamed for it… Angie says, 'don't fuck up!' but then she doesn't exactly give me a chance to succeed here! Any chance these guys could be sustained on hash browns and Kraft dinner for the whole week? The protein shakes alone cost more then the budget she gave me! Does she have any idea what organic chicken costs? It's not cheap! AHHHHH! I am going to have to take money out of my savings account to cover this… how fair is that? Shit. _

_Maybe I should just give in and cash Richie's cheque… _

I slam my journal closed and feel a tear run down my cheek.

"NO! STOP IT!" I yell at myself, looking up and facing my reflection in the computer screen in front of me. I have never cashed a single cheque from him and I don't want to start now. I don't need his money. I won't take it.

I turn down to my menu plan and grocery list. I want to run it past Lucy, the school's cook and make sure she is okay with everything. She won't say boo but it's a professional courtesy I like to extend. The recipes she follows are all mine and she trusts that I know more about nutrition and the needs of hockey players then she does. _'__In__ my __day, __steak __and __potatoes__ – __that__'__s__ what __the __boys __ate!__ And __they __didn__'__t __complain __unless__ the __beer __ran __out!__' _ I can't imagine how the guys managed to skate down the ice, never mind score any goals back then. No, today its all about omega threes and super foods, organic high protein meals and the starch of choice – quinoa. Lucy doesn't even know what it is. "_Looks like little sperms to me,_" she shakes her head and I laugh every time. She just follows instructions and makes sure food is ready when the boys want it. She has worked here for over thirty years. She comes in, cooks, cleans up and leaves. She stays out of the family gossip and drama but is always there to listen. She held it together like a rock through the black days and made sure we all remembered to eat. I don't know what I would do without her. For one, I'd probably end up being the cook too.

I grab my grocery list and menu and head down the hall to the kitchen. Lucy is prepping chicken stock, a staple in all her meals. She refuses to use pre-packaged stock. I stand and watch for a couple minutes as she methodically chops veggies, humming to herself. It calms me. As long as she is still here in this kitchen cooking, something just seems so stable, so doable. Like nothing has really changed, even thought I know everything has.

"I can do this," I whisper to myself and head up to Lucy.

"Hello darlin'," She greets me with her friendly smile. "I hope you got something good for me…"

"Just the menu for the upcoming session. Did you want to take a look at it?" I ask.

"Nope," She shakes her head, as she always does. "But while you are in town, I was hoping you could pick me up a new wooden spoon…"

"Oh, I dunno… that might break the bank…" I laugh. A $2 investment in our cook's happiness is quite worth it. She could ask for a lot more, as I survey the old kitchen which, like most areas of the school, could use some TLC. She just smiles and contently stirs her pot. "I am heading to the city now and should be back around one o'clock. I think some of the boys are arriving this morning, so maybe check with Angie and see about the numbers for the lunch service."

"Will do…"

"And if you think of anything else while I am out, don't hesitate to call," I remind her. She won't call. Never does but I still offer. "Oh and the grocery order that I placed on Wednesday is supposed to be here at two, but if he's early or I'm late just have him put it on the back counter and I can put it away when I get back."

I try and order whatever I can wholesale because it's cheaper but they don't have the best selection. Not that the grocery store in town does either but I don't often feel like driving to the city so I have learned to make do. When I do go down, I stock up. I have learned to keep meticulous inventory so I can better plan. When I first got suckered into this job, I ordered whilly nilly, not really caring what happened in the long run but now I have developed systems and it's actually a lot easier. And I am very proud of my systems. Yey me!

I head back to my office and grab my purse and keys and head out to my truck. I plop my purse down on the seat beside me and notice a little spot on the side of the leather. I stick my thumb in my mouth and go to work at vigorously rubbing out the spot. Charlie bought me this purse when he got his signing bonus after being drafted. I am a little protective of it. He said there would be many more designer purses in my future and what can I say? I was a vain 17 year old girl and that sounded damn near perfect to me. Now, it looks like it will be my first and last designer anything, as I look at the cheque Angie gave me for groceries and run a quick calculation of my savings account balance. Oh well… there are more important things in life.

I put the truck in gear and head down out of the school's parking lot and towards the highway. It's about a thirty minute drive to Kenora – and our closest grocery store. I don't need much. It's more about getting a break and maybe a Starbucks. I like to feel human from time to time and not just a drone at someone else's beck and call. Holding a grande skinny caramel macchiato in my hands makes me think that I am back in University in Montreal, with a professional athlete boyfriend who has a multi-million dollar contract, on my way to being something great. The feeling doesn't last long but I embrace every fleeting second.

Oh well… it was a nice dream.

I turn off the road to town and pass the Tim Horton's, debating for a second on taking the fiscally responsible path of the $1.50 coffee over driving out of my way for the $5.00 coffee. Fuck it. I will enjoy the $5.00 coffee, five times as much and make the decision to continue my drive. I drive down the main road, past all the folks up from Winnipeg for the weekend. Most will be heading back to the city, as it's Sunday and that's just the way of life for these happy cottagers. I follow the lake and turn up the road towards the Safeway and Starbucks, passing the hockey rink that I spent so much of my childhood at. Happy times. I make a note to concentrate on those for the next week and then, if I so choose, I can go back to being a miserable bitch when the guys all leave and forget about me for another year.

I park and wander into the grocery store. I pick up the things that I need and find Lucy her requested wooden spoon. I deliver the bags to the back of the truck and head back inside to order my coffee. The barista hands it to me and tells me to have a good day and I almost burst out laughing. A good day is far from likely.

Instead of climbing into the truck and heading home, I take a little stroll and plop myself on a bench along the shore. I take short, little sips of my coffee, trying to desperately extend my 'me-time' as long as possible. The M.S. Kenora sails past on her regular schedule, sending waves from her wake, crashing to the shore. I watch as they splash on the rocks lining the banks of the lake, sending a pack of seagulls up into the sky. I laugh out loud as one stubborn seagull takes a full splash, refusing to move from his rock. He seems perfectly content, spreading his wings to take the shower – surely a refreshing treat on this warm summer day. All the other seagulls eventually return to their rocks but the stubborn seagull never moved. He could have drowned but he didn't seem to care. Must be nice to not care.

Wow… now I am envious of a fucking seagull. They eat garbage off of the side of the Trans Canada for Christ sake. I bury my hands in my face and choke back tears. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will NOT cry.

"You are so predictable…" I feel the hands on my shoulder before I hear the words and jump off the bench, ready to attack.

"Fuck! You scared the shit out of me!" I wind up and punch Mike in the shoulder. He has been sneaking up on me since we were kids. You'd think the guy would get the point that I'm not a fan when I punch him _every__ time._

"Well if I didn't know exactly where you would be…" He points out, rubbing his shoulder.

"That is kinda creepy… you stalking me now Richie?"

"Just pickin' up some groceries for my grandma and thought I saw your truck…" He points towards the grocery store parking lot. "You know, if you cashed those cheques I sent you, you could probably drive something a bit more inconspicuous…"

"I love that truck!" I pout. Charlie and I bought that truck together when we were in high school, combining the money from our shitty summer jobs. We put about ten times more into it in repairs then we paid for it but I still think it's worth it.

"I think you might have missed the point there…" Mike laughs. "The money?"

"I don't need your money…" I lie. I know he's just trying to help but I have never cashed a single cheque from him. It started off in anger but now it's more on principal. You can't buy forgiveness.

"Yes you do…" He argues with an I-know-it-all smile that frustrates the shit out of me. Just because he's right, doesn't mean he has to be an ass about it.

"Fine but I don't want it..." I protest, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You might as well just use it. I'm not gonna stop sending it to you," He insists with a smirk.

"Send away, your just wasting money on cheques."

"I get free cheques - a perk of being a millionaire." Rub it in Richards. Rub. It. In. That should have been me.

"Whatever…. I'm not in the mood to argue with you…"

"Fine but you better get over it… I'm comin' to camp today," He laughs.

"Are you? Well then I guess I'll see you later…" I suck back the last sip of my very worth while $5 coffee and pry myself up off of my bench. Mike nods and looks up at me. I smile and head to my car but I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away.

-.-

"Ahhhhh!" Liz comes running up the drive way and jumps at me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I wrap my arms around her and fling her around in a circle. She looks good. Happy. I assume it's fake but I am not about to get into it right now…

"Shit, it's good to see you!" I plop her down and look into her face.

"You too!" She beams and then there's an awkward silence between us. I don't really know what to say. It's still painful. But what's worse is that I can't help but notice how god damn beautiful she is. No wonder Charlie kept her away from everyone – he probably didn't trust anyone not to try and steal her away from him.

_*cough*_

I snap out of it hearing Sid clear his throat. Looking back at him, he gives me a scolding look. It's the same look my grandma would give me when I dragged my feet as a child or put my elbows on the dinner table. Manners, manners…

"Sorry, um, Liz this is my team mate, um, Sidney Crosby."

"Hi, how are you?" Liz extends her small delicate hand and I watch it slip into his huge paw. Her skin looks like one of my great aunt's porcelain dolls - smooth, creamy, almost iridescent. The dolls used to scare the crap out of me. I always thought they were going to come to life and stab me in the eye or something.

"I'll get Lucas to show you to your rooms," Liz says, pulling out her phone and sending a text. "If you guys need anything, James, you know where I am, please don't hesitate. Angie of course, will have a package for you guys later but we'll just get you settled in first."

"Great, are we in the main building or cabins?"

"I'm not sure… I think the main building. Actually I think she gave you guys the suites in the left wing but we can check inside…" Liz nods to the front door and begins walking towards it.

"Wow… we must be moving up in the world!" I laugh. Suites in the left wing… wow. I've always been banished to the back cabins.

"I think Angie might be trying to impress someone…" Liz offers with a wink.

"I didn't want any special attention or anything…" Sid interjects.

"Yeah, well… I'm sure you're used to it by now…" She smiles but I think I saw an eye roll. I won't lie, I'm a little relieved. I was a little nervous about bringing Sid here. I don't think I could handle Liz being all doe-eyed around him. Not that she is like that but a lot of girls change when they get near him and I would have been more then a little pissy. Not that I don't want her to be happy with the right guy, just maybe not with someone I couldn't beat up if I had too.

"Ang! James and Sidney are here!" She called down the admin hall to the offices and within seconds Angie appeared with the familiar fake smile. God, I hate that woman! And not just cause she treats Liz like a fucking slave but because she's a huge bitch too.

"James, I am so glad you could make it and the golden boy, Sidney Crosby… welcome to our humble hockey school. We are so happy to have you here. If you need anything, please don't hesitate –"

"Wow Ang, why don't you just suck them off in the lobby?" I hear behind me and turn to see Mike Richards, the captain of my new rival team, standing behind me. Or should I say ex-captain? I heard he got traded to L.A. '_That__'__s __a __shame,__'_ I think sarcastically to myself.

"Mike!" Liz gasps but then presses her lips together to contain her laughter. Angie looks like someone slapped her first born child in the face – which of course is entirely impossible because it means someone would have to fuck the nasty bitch… and as far as I am concerned there aren't enough drugs or alcohol - or any combination of - in the world.

"Richards," Sid extends his arm, attempting the diplomatic approach.

"_Crosby?_ What the fuck are you doing here?" Richards barks. It's been my experience that the diplomatic approach is wasted on him…

"He is a guest of this school!" Angie snaps. "And if you would like to be, you would keep in mind that we have a zero tolerance policy!"

"She's right Mikey –" Liz tries to step in between them.

"Mikey?" Sid repeats his name in a child like voice and laughs.

"Yeah? What are you saying?" Richards barks, pushing out his chest like a baboon about to attack.

"Nothin' man… just… never heard anyone call you _Mikey_ before," Sid shrugs with a cocky smile. "_It__'__s__ so __cute,__"_ Sid reaches out and pinches Mike's cheeks like he's a baby. I see Mike clench his fists and I guess Liz does too, as she forces herself in between them. I debate stepping in but I think Sid could take him.

"Okay boys, no pissing in the lobby," Liz says, laying her hands flat on Mike's chest and directing him back a couple paces. It was almost a really short camp.

"Lucas! Perfect timing!" Liz greets the youngest Ross boy. "Please take James and Sidney to their rooms – "

"Whoa! You're Sidney Crosby!" Lucas stops in his tracks, his eyes round like plates.

"Hey, nice to meet you," Sid responds with a modest smile. That's more of the Sid we know.

"No! He can take Mike and I will _personally_ escort James and Sidney to their rooms," Angie interrupts. Liz looks up at me and mouths an apology but I just shrug and nudge Sid towards his bags. It's probably better to get these two out of the lobby and away from each other anyway. As we gather our bags, a couple guys I don't recognize come in and Liz busies herself helping them. I'll look forward to catching up with her later.

-.-

"And the common room is just down there but your suite is one of the few that has its own sitting area," Angie informs me. "And of course the kitchen, dining hall and break-out rooms are just past that. There is a map of the grounds in your info package but there is always someone in the reception area… I'm usually there... if you need anything… anything at all…"

"Right, well… um… thanks for that," I shift uncomfortably. I doubt she makes that same offer to all her clients. I kinda want to gag as she licks her lips in what I am guessing is her trying to be seductive. Ugh. '_Where did James go?_' i think to myself, glancing past her and into the hall.

"Actually there is something that you could help me out with…" I remember, stepping back from her.

"Anything…" she purrs.

"Um… my, ah, nutritionist sent me with a meal plan… so if it's possible to, um, pass it on to your chef… maybe they could incorporate some of these elements."

"Absolutely, that's no problem at all!"

"I would appreciate it but only if it's not too much trouble…"

"No trouble at all… I'll pass it on right away!"

"Great. Thanks," I nod.

"So, you read through the info and if feel free to ask any questions. We want to make sure that your stay here is as comfortable as possible," She rambles on. I am really ready for this girl to be gone.

"Okay, will do… thanks…"

"Okay. Well I guess I'll see you at dinner then?" She makes her way towards the door.

"Great…bye," I offer with a nod. I hope she doesn't think I'm rude but I'm not in the mood to continue some meaningless conversation. She seems to get the point and slowly backs out of the room batting her eyelashes at me, like all the other girls do. I'm not sure who they think that works on.

"Hey!" James pops his head around the corner of my door, checking over his shoulder.

"Hey! Shit, I never thought she would leave!" I laugh with relief and he nods understandingly.

"Yeah, sorry for leaving you alone with her but... she annoys the crap out me. Literally. I had to drop a huge deuce!" James shakes his head and waves his hand in front of his face. "I hope you don't have to go for awhile..."

-.-

"Sidney Crosby just gave me a meal plan from his nutritionist. Here - " Angie shoves some papers into my hands.

"What do you want me to do with them?" I ask looking down at the complex notes.

"Make it happen," She barks.

"But… but I've already made the meal plans and bought the groceries…" I shuffle through the papers. Not a single thing in common with our current menu.

"So? Change it…" Do I look like a genie in a lamp?

"Lucy has already started prepping..."

"I don't give a rat's ass about that old bag. We pay her to do what we want!"

"I don't even know if I can get some of this stuff… I mean I guess I could go down to Winnipeg but there's not a lot of time… and we don't have the money to do a whole new menu!"

"We will find the money! We'll make cuts somewhere…" Angie informs me, as if that's easy to do.

"Where?" If there were cuts that could be made, they have already been made. We are running on fumes.

"Keep mouthing off and it'll be out of your pay!" Angie threatens me, something that doesn't exactly work anymore.

"You barely pay me as it is!" I laugh and she just glares at me.

"Make the changes!"


	4. Chapter 4

*****Would appreciate knowing what you guys think of the story so far! Thanks for reading!

**Chapter Four**

_Dear Diary, _

_Sidney Crosby is an asshole. And a spoiled brat. And a douche. No – not just a douche, a huge douche! What the fuck everyone sees in him, I don't think I will ever understand. The guy is totally full of himself. I'm surprised he can make it on to the ice at all – he'd have to tear himself away from loving himself long enough to tie his skates. Fuck, he probably has someone to tie his skates for him. _

_And what the fuck is wrong with James? Seriously. He's all like, 'Sid's a good guy'. Fuck that. First impressions are lasting impressions and my first impression is _

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" I jump and slam my diary shut as _Mr.__ Crosby_ comes into the kitchen.

"James said I could probably muster up a peanut butter sandwich down here…"

"The bread is in the cupboard," I offer him bluntly. There is no way in hell that I am making any god damned sandwich for some prima donna princess that was too busy taping hockey sticks to learn how to fend for his god damned self.

"Great. Thanks," He nods and heads to the cupboard.

"You didn't get enough for supper? Food not up to your standards?" I snap, watching him pull down a loaf of bread and begin searching for the peanut butter. I watched him push the food around his plate at dinner, like I was trying to torture him with my terrible food.

"No… no nothing like that… I just… got the munchies, is all…" He stutters apologetically.

"Whatever," I roll my eyes and climb to my feet, wrapping my sweater around me tightly and grabbing my journal.

"Did I do something to offend you?" He asks, as I walk past him.

"Nope. I guess I'm just surprised that that sandwich fits into your menu plan," I grumble and leave the kitchen. I have a four hour drive ahead of me in the morning and apparently I am already in a bad mood, so I guess I better get to bed early. Get a good night sleep so I can plaster a better fake smile on tomorrow.

-.-

"I'm gonna head for a jog, you wanna join?" Please say yes, I silently plead. I think I'll get lost if he doesn't say yes. I need to clear my head. Between Richards being a douche, that Angela girl throwing herself at me and now Liz, apparently hating me… I don't know how much more I can take in one night… fortunately, he nods and climbs to his feet. He slips on his shoes and we head outside. The sun has gone down but the running path is dotted with lamps. It's a nice night out, warm with a cooling breeze – perfect for fishing really. Too bad.

"So, anybody else we know coming to this thing?" I ask James, heading down the path away from the main building, towards the cabins. The last thing I need is another bombardment. Is Pronger going to jump out of the bushes while we jog and beat my face in? Is Konopka waiting around the next corner, ready to pounce? I need to know these things…

"Um… I'm not sure… usually there are some guys you might know…a lot of them have kinda faded off over the years though," James stops in his tracks and thinks. "Um… Wisneiski and Steve Downie came up last year. They both played with Charlie. Carcillo and Richards, obviously, you saw they were here… both guys knew him. He was close with the Pyatts and I think Marc or Eric Staal... I can never remember which one is the older one…"

"Eric," I offer.

"Yeah, so then Eric... there was a bit of a rivalry there but they loved each other. They were fierce on the ice against each other, it was something…" James shakes his head, clearly remembering some good times. Reminiscing seems to be the theme of this camp.

"Like _any_ of the Staals playing each other?" I ask with a smile, trying to understand the pre-tense. I hate walking into a situation I don't fully understand and one is enough for today.

"Yeah!" James laughs. You don't need to play for the Pens long to see the Staal family dynamic is a bit fucked up. "I love that they say it doesn't affect their game but then somehow they all miraculous play better when another is in the building!"

"I doubt they will ever stop denying it…"

"It's full out mental warfare out there!"

"We could both take notes on chirping from the Staals." I laugh with him. He nods in awe of the Staal's verbal sniping ability, a talent I guess you adapt with three hockey playing brothers. We continue down the path, around the back of the property, past the rink and training facility, past the baseball diamond and large field.

"Whoa, hold up man." James puts his arm out and I come to a complete stop, as we approach the main building once again.

"What's up?" I ask, following James' eyes down the path to where two figures are clearly getting into it.

"I don't like this," He shakes his head and begins slowly walking towards them. I follow him, still not able to see who exactly is fighting. As we get closer, I can begin to see that it's a girl and a guy. A couple more steps and I recognize the female to be that Lizzie girl but the dude has his back to us.

"You are coming to L.A. with me and that's that! I am tired of having this conversation!" The man shouts. I look over at James and he shrugs.

"I am NOT going to L.A.! I live here. I _belong_ here." Liz yells right back. She is definitely a feisty one – I don't know if I would take her on. But whoever is fighting with her clearly knows her better then I do, as he reaches out and grabs her by the shoulders.

"You don't belong here. You never did!"

He seems to have figured out who it is and picks up his pace, taking a couple steps ahead of me. I take a couple more steps and begin to realize who exactly is in the exchange. I can't help but smile as the revelation kicks in. Mike Richards is balls-deep in an old school battle he has no chance of winning and by the looks of James fists, clenched and tight, he has put his hands on the wrong girl.

"I made a fucking promise! How can I help you if you won't god-damn let me?" Richie yells, giving our host a slight shake.

"Me? Help me? I don't need your help!" She throws his arms off her and gives him a solid, angry shove. "You had a chance to help and you were too busy drinking and fucking everything that walked to help… You think sending me a cheque every month is you helping? Does that help you sleep at night? You know what would help me sleep at night? If my husband was still alive and if you would leave me the fuck alone!" Liz turns and stomps past us, with Richards yelling and following after her.

"Lizzie! Lizzie get back here!" Richards is quick on her heels but James steps in his path, cutting him off. I didn't exactly come here to get in a fight but I'm here now, so…

"Okay buddy I think it's time for you to lay off her…" James blocks Richards attempt to get past him.

"Fuck off Neal! Stay out of it!" I watch as the spittle flies from Richards lips and lands in James' face but that doesn't seem to deter him any.

"You know I can't do that… I have just as much of an interest in protecting her as you do…"James defends himself. I am not sure what that means but I'll bring it up later.

"Really? You think so…" Richards hisses, pushing James away from him – or attempting to. James holds his ground.

"Come on man, we were all friends of Charlie…"

"Yeah and some of us stuck around longer then others, hey?" Richards points out with venom. From the way James told me the story, I could tell that there were some lingering guilt issues but judging by his body language, I gravely underestimated it.

"Fuck you…" James slurs, through clenched teeth.

"No fuck you! I tried to help him. I was here. I did the best I could…" Richards yells, poking his index finger into James chest. "Now all I have left is a promise I made a friend before he blew his fucking face off, that I would take care of his girl and the bitch won't let me…"

"Don't you dare say shit about Lizzie! Don't you fucking dare!"

"What are you going to do about it?"

"I'll fucking kick your ass!" James raises his hands and grabs Richards by the shirt. I take a step forward and put my hand on James shoulder, trying to pull him back a little.

"Oh yeah? You and what fucking army, ya fucking little weasel? Him? I doubt that's permitted by his contract…" Richards laughs, turning to me. "Gotta protect the pretty little face of the league, don't we?"

"I don't need any fucking help to smash your face…" James assures him and I thank my lucky stars I didn't have to get involved. I don't know if taking a blow to my head would be such a good idea right now and as much as I know I can handle myself in a scuffle, I also know it's often the man fighting with the most passion that wins. I would be the odd man out here.

"Oh I get it… you think that defending her against me is going to get you into her pants… that's what you wanted all along isn't it? I bet you couldn't wait to get into her bed. Just had to wait for the sheets to get cold, didn't you?" Richards laughs and I can see James recoil in shock. I don't know if it's the truth or not but this is taking a turn to the ugly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" I offer, attempting to step up between the two of them. I didn't want to get involved. I tried to stay out of it, I really did but that was crossing a line.

"Stay the fuck out of this Crosby!" Richards barks at me, giving me a little shove.

"Come on James, let him go… lets just walk away…" I offer to clearly the more level-headed of the two, reaching across them and closing my hands over James' fists.

"Is that how number one's fight? By walking away, being a pussy?" Mike continues and I ignore him. I am good at ignoring his meaningless words by now. I concentrate on James and getting his eye contact. He is shaking mad and this can't end well. He doesn't need to get hurt before the season even starts.

"James. Let. Go." I repeat myself and feel his grip loosen. I successfully pull his hands away and spin him around, to head back down the path we came.

"And the Lord Sidney commandeth," Richards quips sarcastically from behind us and before I can control him, James spins around and his fist connects with Mike's face, sending the unbalanced forward spiralling to the ground. I try to stifle my laughter, as James stomps off, but it doesn't exactly work. I let a little chuckle escape, offering Richards an 'I warned you' shrug, as he lets a string of curse words fly and spits out a mouthful of blood. Hehehe.

-.-

"Where's James?" I demand walking into the common room. Sidney is lying across one of the couches and every bone in my body has to resist the urge to flip the couch. I don't know why but I giggle mischievously to myself at the image of sending that man flying across the room.

"He went to get ice for his hand…" Sid explains, looking up at me.

"Did he go to the kitchen?"

"I dunno… I guess. Is that were you keep your ice?" He asks with a dismissive shrug.

"There is also a training room at the rink," I point out and he seems surprised. "We were once a state of the art facility, I"ll have you know."

"I'm guessing that was a while ago…" He laughs. Oh, no he didn't.

"Yeah well, y_ou_ were once top of the league. Shit happens." I know I may have gone too far but he deserves it.

"I have a concussion. I will be on top again," He hisses at me, making a guarantee that I don't doubt he will pull through on. Hell, I still plan on picking him in my fantasy draft. That's not the point.

"And we will be too." I reply with the same determination he offered me in his response. My statement, I probably wouldn't bet on with the same gusto but I'm a proud woman and apparently delusional.

"Listen, I didn't mean to offend you…" Sid climbs to his feet and raises his hands in surrender.

"Well you did." I respond coldly, cutting him off. I don't care who he is, he needs to be held accountable for his words.

"If I could get a word in, I am trying to apologize," He snaps at me.

"I don't need your apology. You are entitled to your opinion. Even if it's wrong," I add. I turn and head to the hall, before turning around and offering behind me. "Oh and if you see James, save me the time and punch him in the face for me, would ya?"

"He was just defending you!" Sid calls after me and I stop in my tracks, spin around and pop my head back into the common room.

"Who asked him to do that?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Dear Diary,_

_I don't know how to write what I am feeling. I don't know how to put the turmoil inside of me into words. I don't know how to express myself because my whole life I have been told not to. 'Don't get too happy Lizzie' 'Don't be sad Lizzie' Well, how am I supposed to feel? If someone could just tell me what to do… if I could just read a book or follow instructions… or… _

I look up from my journal, stare at the ceiling and take a deep breath in. I feel the tears that were threatening to spill over disappear back into my body. It's cold in the arena where I am sitting, not cold enough to freeze my tears but cold to chill me through and through. But it's also quiet and away from everyone. The boys would have left their on-ice practice before lunch and won't be back for awhile – if at all. Most of them will go for a nap after lunch, some will head out to the beach or the nearby golf course.

I wish I could have gotten a nap. I am tired but couldn't sleep. It was a long drive to and from Winnipeg, the highways weren't busy but the construction – oye! I hate the damn summer construction. I thought coming and sitting in here would be relaxing, it used to be when I was younger. I used to come in here and watch Charlie practice. I loved watching him practice. I used to bug him when he missed and that would make him try harder, his ego drove so much of what he did, but shame and fear of embarrassment won out in the end.

_I don't need instructions… I need a bloody hypnotist, to wipe away everything in my head. Everything I do, I always resort back to missing him. I wish I could shake it. Put it out of my mind 'cause it's not like I am looking back on my memories with fondness. I now look back at them and see what they really were. Maybe the hypnotist could make me less jaded? Erase my memory, make me a nicer person, give me strength to deal with people I don't like, maybe give me some patience? Wow… can a hypnotist just make me a new person? If so, I might also request longer legs and bigger boobs. Maybe less split ends…_

And there I go again. Making jokes. According to the therapist, that's what I do to cope with my problems. As soon as I begin to reveal something about myself, I mask it with sarcasm and people read it as me being fine.

I'm not fine. I'm a mess.

I lower my head to my lap and begin to sob quietly to myself, dropping the journal and the pen to my feet. I know it's not the best form of therapy but sometimes I just need to cry. I just need to let it out. It builds up pressure inside me and just needs out. I worry about the day when it escapes in front of people. That's why I allow myself to cry in controlled settings. It's like setting fire to a field on purpose, to prevent a fire. A controlled burn. This is a controlled cry. I control the setting, the timing and I never let it get out of hand.

In fact, it's over.

I sit up, straighten my back, sniffle in my snot goobers and wipe my tears away with the sleeve of my sweater. I bend over and lift my journal off the floor and look down at what I've just written. I angrily rip out the page and crumple it up, throwing it as far as I can. This journal thing is stupid anyway.

I stand up to leave, just as the gate to the rink opens and a player skates out. I can't tell who it is right away, as not many lights are on, but as I watch him move around the ice surface, creating drills for himself, it becomes clear to me. I have a momentary flashback, to a better, easier time in my life as I watch the newest face of the NHL move around the ice. I sit back down and watch, not trusting my legs to carry me down the stairs, as he forces himself to run wind sprints. I don't think he is supposed to be pushing himself that hard yet but… I remember what it was like trying to stop someone who naturally competes – even with himself – to stop.

When he has tortured himself enough, he skates over to the bench, takes a drink and reaches for a bag of pucks, dumping them out on the ice. He shoots some at the sideboards, does some stick handling drills between his feet, then sends a pile to the blue line. He skates around with a puck on his stick, pulling it in and out of the maze of other pucks on ice with ease. Watching him now, you would never know that his brain is suffering. But I guess that's the joy of a concussion. You never know when they're better, or when they are just faking being better, so no one asks them _if_ they are better.

I watch as Sidney lines up the pucks on the blue line and begins firing them at the net. I can't see from where I am sitting if they are going in or not, so I climb to my feet and move down to the side of the ice, leaning against the boards, just like I used to watch Charlie. His dad always warned me that I was going to take a puck to the face if I leaned too far over the boards and shoo me away but it was only because the boys used to trip over themselves to get a good view of my cleavage and forget what they were supposed to be doing.

"What was that?" I ask, watching Sid take shots at the net. I see him practically jump as he realizes he isn't alone.

"What was _what_?" He snaps at me, turning to where I have moved, standing along the half wall of the home team box.

"You missed…" I point to an errant puck.

"Yeah, so?" He shrugs.

"Oh I'm sorry… I thought you were Sidney Crosby, _he-who-shall-not-miss_. I must have been mistaken…" I tease dryly.

"Really?" He snarls. Clearly he isn't a fan of someone pointing out his misses. Just like Charlie used to be.

I just shrug and give him a little smirk. He turns away from me and begins to line up ten pucks in a row. If I know him like I think I do, that little challenge will infuriate him and he will try harder and do better this time. I watch as he winds up and hits each little rubber disc towards the net. One by one they go in. One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven –

_*Ting* _

A puck hits the crossbar and he pauses momentarily and attempts to brush off the sound. It's a sound every hockey player hates. It's the sound of failure. I can see him trying to center himself, as he winds up again.

_*Ting * _

"Focus," I offer in all attempts to help. It's still habit.

"Fuck off." He hisses behind him. Angrily, he pulls the last puck towards him, winds up and blasts it towards the net but the rubber sails high and wide and hits the boards behind it.

"I thought you would be better with some heckling by now," I laugh, as I see him practically strangling his stick.

"What? You think you can do better?" He challenges me.

"Yup."

"Oh pullezze!" He rolls his eyes.

"Line 'em up," I instruct him and step into the hall towards the dressing room, to the rack on the side wall where sticks are held. My stick isn't out here – hasn't been in years – so I shuffle through the guys sticks looking for one that will do the trick. When I finally settle on one, I step out onto the ice, sliding myself over to where he's standing. I wish I had skates on so I wouldn't be so much shorter then him. He looks down at me with a serious expression, the couple inches he has on me, plus the inches added by the skates, makes him seem like a giant but I know better then to let that intimidate me. In front of me are ten pucks, lined up meticulously in a perfect row. You could probably measure the distance between them and they would be exactly the same, give or take a millimetre.

I push him out of the way with the butt of my chosen stick and stare at the net. Two things could happen here. One – I could get really lucky and actually get seven or more pucks in and then I would be my own personal hero for the day and it would shut this smug bastard up. Or two, I don't get seven in and give him a bit of a confidence boost which is potentially what he needs since his head injury. I know what post-concussion depression looks like, and I would be willing to bet this guy has a bad case of it – regardless of what he might say.

I take a deep breath and wind up to fire.

_*ting* _

"Fuck," I swear under my breath but hear laughing coming from behind me. I am pretty sure I hear him mutter '_focus__'_ but I tune him out. What someone should have told him was that I grew up competing with boys and hearing them laugh at me, or mock me in _any way_, makes me wanna beat them more.

One, Two, Three, Four –

Number four went high and wide. I don't let it phase me.

Five, Six, Seven.

I pull the last disc to my stick and look at it. This is it. I can beat Sidney Crosby – _hockey__ god_ – right now in this moment.

_*ting*_

"Ha!" he lets rip, as the puck hit the crossbar, in the same place as my first shot. "Guess you can't beat me, hey?"

"We tied."

"But the challenge was that you could beat me – you didn't," He pointed out.

"Whatever. As long as you're okay with _tying__ a __girl,__"_ I retort, knowing that that will probably bother him just as much as losing. I hand him the stick and slowly slide back across the ice, to head out the exit down the hall from the locker rooms. I am half way up the hall to the exit when I look over my shoulder and see him following behind me - or rather _stomping._

"I could kick your ass one on one out there," He shouts at me.

"I guess we'll never know – you are still no contact and I don't think I could make it through that without hitting you," I call out, taking a step towards him.

"I'm not afraid of some little girl trying to put me in the boards! I probably wouldn't even notice it," He explains, as he comes up to my side, standing in front of me. The height difference is more noticeable now then out on the ice. A regular girl might be intimidated or back down with a hockey player towering over them but I certainly won't.

"I could bury you," I reach up and poke him in the chest. '_Yeah__ right,_' I laugh to myself but it's a nice thought.

"So how do we settle this?" he asks, stepping in close to me, and it might just be my imagination, but I believe there was a bit of a suggestive undertone to that challenge. I clearly have to select my words wisely here -

"Settle what?" James asks from down the hall, as I spin and see a group of guys standing just outside the doors to the dressing rooms. I didn't even notice there were other guys here. They must have been standing in the dressing room when I stomped past but now it appears that they have all moved out into the hall to watch the spectacle of Sid and I arguing. There is a cautious look of concern on James' face as he watches for our reactions.

"Oh hey," Sid nods and steps back from me, a slightly guilty look spread over his face.

"It's nothing. It seems as if I have just wounded your captain's ego with a little beating on the ice," I offer casually. I don't need the guys making more of this then it is. Especially James.

"You didn't beat me," He quickly corrects me. I just roll my eyes.

-.-

She didn't beat me. A tie is not a win. And technically she did say she could_ beat_ me and didn't, so actually she lost. Just saying.

"And now he is looking for a way to settle the score…" She explains to the guys standing in the hall. Some of the guys laugh and some of them shake their heads. Anyone who knows me, knows that I am not about to take this lightly.

"Well… it's karaoke night at Casey's," I hear from the back of the group, as Richards opens his fat mouth. "You guys could battle it out there – Lake of the Woods style," Richards looks at me with a shit-eating grin.

"That sounds perfect," She claps her hands together excitedly. Mike wanders up to us and drapes his arm across her shoulder possessively. She looks uncomfortable with him being so close to her and quickly tries to shrug it off. I glance over at James who is watching the same thing and worry that he is going to do something stupid again. I haven't had a chance to talk to him about what exactly Richards meant last night by the whole _'__couldn__'__t__ wait __to __get __into__ her __pants__ ordeal__'_ that seemed to set him off but it's still on my to do list.

"Unless, of course, you don't want to ruin your rep by singing in public?" Mike asks me, in the most condescending tone possible, clearly not on my side. I'm not surprised. Most rivalries end on the ice but not this one. I think it will be a cold day in hell when Richie sides with me on anything. I accept the challenge and head back into the dressing room, pushing past the crowd of guys watching. Not sure what they think they are watching. It was just a silly argument. It meant nothing, or I'm pretty sure anyway...


	6. Chapter 6

_*This should go without saying, but obviously none of the songs below are my writing, (just in case someone complains, it's now covered)._

_*Also, i apologize, i had some trouble writing this chapter (and revising it a hundred times) because for some reason i had an image in my head as to how this scene would play out and don't know if i entirely put into words properly. i hope you can follow along and see into the cloudy mess of my head. Maybe I should lay off the eggnog... (unlikely)**  
><strong>_

**Chapter Six**

"So what are the rules, here?" Sid leans over and asks. I can't believe he is doing this! We used to come up here as a group all the time and Liz dominated. I don't think anyone has told Sid he stands no freakin' chance. The only person to beat her was Charlie – and only because I am pretty sure she had a cold at the time.

"The computer picks the songs, you get five veto's – use them wisely," I warn him.

"How do I _win_?" he asks and I don't have the heart to tell him that he doesn't stand a chance at winning, that he should probably just concentrate on not embarrassing himself.

"Well the good news is that you don't necessarily have to sing in key, just hit the ups and downs of the song at the right time. You get a percentage score after every song and them at the end of the five songs..."

"K."

"You're sure you want to do this?" I ask again.

"No." He shakes his head with a look of terror on his face.

"Ready for an ass kicking Crosby?" Lizzie asks, picking up the mic on the pseudo stage, in front of the group that all came out to see her kick Sid's ass.

He looks at me with a nervous glance, then climbs to his feet, shakes it off and heads up to the front of the room. The guy has balls.

-.-

"Flip a coin to start? Winner's choice?" She asks me, waving the mic around in circles. She is soooo sure of herself, it's frustrating as hell.

"Sure," I agree and dig into my pocket to produce a shiny quarter. She calls out 'heads' as I flip the coin in the air and as it lands I silently beg it to be 'tails', so I don't have to run a risk of going first. If it's 'tails' I can make her go first and maybe heckle her a bit, throw her off her game and such. I lift my hand and sure enough, it's 'heads'. That's not fair. My hands are too sweaty from nervousness to flip a fucking coin.

"You're first…" She smiles smugly, handing me the mic. Damn, I knew she would do that.

"So what do I do?" I ask, looking down at the intimidating machine, with lots of buttons and nobs.

"Press this button for shuffle, then a song will come up and you can pick accept or next… you only get –"

"Five veto's, I know…"

"Okay... Ready?" She asks and I nod. I press the button as per her instructions. " '_Can__'__t__ Take __My __Eyes __Off __You__'_…Frankie Vallie and the 4 seasons… an oldie but a goodie…" She reads off to the crowd. Thank god it's a song I know! Actually, I even kinda like this song.

"Take your seats class, I am gonna school you all…" I offer confidently, shoeing Liz away from the stage.

"Yeah, we'll see…" She rolls her eyes and I watch her take her seat. I make a decision as the music starts, that I am going to embarrass myself one way or the other, so I might as well have fun with it. And maybe knock her off her game a little bit…

"_You__'__re __just __too __good __to __be __true__… __can__'__t __take __my __eyes __off __of __you__… __you__'__d __be __like __heaven __to __touch, __I __wanna __hold __you __soooo __much_…" As I sing, I walk in close to her, not breaking eye contact and see her shift awkwardly in her seat. Her eyes shift from me to the screen behind me, measuring my progress, then back and I do my best to hold them right on mine. It's clearly making her uncomfortable – and it's great!

"You're not hitting your queues… pay attention! If you're not going to take this seriously…" She hisses at me, pointing at the screen, as I get up right in front of her, pulling the words from memory.

"Actually, I think he's doing okay…" I hear James correct her and she shoots him a look that could wilt a flower. I just continue my so-called 'singing'.

"_But __if __you __feel __like __I __feel, __please__ let __me __know__ that __it__'__s __real__… __you__'__re __just __too __good __to __be __true, __can__'__t __take __my __eyes __off __you__…"_

"_I __love __you,__ baby,__" _If you're going to go down, go do big right? I drop to my knees in front of her and belt it out, no hold back, all in. The guys let out a huge cheer as I lay it all out here. _  
><em>

"_And if it's quite alright, _

_ I need you, baby, _

_ To warm a lonely night. _

_ I love you, baby. _

_ Trust in me when I say…"  
><em>

She pushes me away, as I reach for her hand and flips me the bird. More cheering from the crowd, as Liz crossed her arms fiercely over her chest. I don't care I just continue singing happily.

"_Oh, pretty baby,  
>Don't bring me down, I pray.<br>Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay  
>And let me love you, baby.<br>Let me love you."_

As the song wraps up, I take a little bow and smile a cocky smile as Liz stands up and yanks the mic out of my hands. The guys make 'ohhhs' and laugh, as the level of competition has definitely passed the 'friendly' point

"Oh yeah, you think you're so good? Let's see what the computer says…" She threatens

"Yes, lets…" I agree, turning to the screen and hitting the 'score' button. I'm not nervous cause I know I killed that song

"98%! Boom!" Okay, I admit, not the best sportsmanlike conduct I've ever let shine through but… too bad. I kicked ass.

"What the fuck? This thing is a piece of shit…" Liz shakes her head in disbelief.

"Oh? Because I rock?" I laugh at her.

"Yeah, we'll see… beginners luck," Liz hisses then hits the 'next' button. "Ohhhh yeah, we'll see…" She rubs her hands together excitedly and grabs the mic. I can't imagine that's a good sign.

"What's that?" I look down at the screen and try to figure out what got her so excited. " _'__Black__ Velvet__'_… Alannah Myles…"

"Oh shit…" I hear James swear and look up to see him shaking his head. Richards starts laughing hysterically, almost falling out of his chair, with some of the other guys. Clearly there is a joke here that I am not up to date on.

"What?" I ask, looking around the group.

"I think she seduced half the men in Kenora with this song once…" Richards laughs.

"Oh?" I look at James for confirmation

"You should sit down…" He offers slowly, pulling out a chair for me. "You may regret your _'__showmanship__'_…"

"_Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell,_

_ Jimmy Rogers on the Victrola up high._

_ Mama's dancin' with baby on her shoulder_

_ The sun is settin' like molasses in the sky _

_ The boy could sing, knew how to move, everything _

_ Always wanting more, he'd leave you longing for…"  
><em>

"Oh shit…" I breath, watching her sway through the first verse. She lets down her ponytail, and her long brown hair falls down over her shoulders. I didn't realize her hair was that long. The light catches the highlights and they seem to glow. She runs her hands through her hair and looks up at me with a coy little smile.

"Yup…" James nods and I finally understand the hold this woman seems to have on all these men. I don't know why I haven't seen it, or noticed it but … damn.

_ "Black velvet and that little boy's smile  
>Black velvet with that slow southern style,<em>

_ A new religion that'll bring ya to your knees  
>Black velvet if you please…"<br>_

She walks slowly over to the tables we are sitting at and systematically seduces every man there, running her fingers through their hair, dragging them across their chests, rubbing their biceps. I watch as each guy turns to freakin mush, some of them visibly adjusting themselves in their seats, some less discreetly then others. When she gets around the table to me, she lowers herself to the ground, using my chair as a wall, sliding down me as she sings the chorus. I can barely breathe, as she comes back up and leans into me, running her fingers through my hair, digging her fingers into my scalp. Out of the corner of my eye I can see James trying not to laugh and out the other side I see Richards looking like he is going to jump across the room and kill me. It's not like I am asking her to do whatever it is that she is doing… I mean, I am certainly not complaining…

_ "Up in Memphis the music's like a heat wave  
>White lightening, bound to drive you wild<br>Mama's baby's in the heart of every school girl  
>Love me tender" leaves 'em cryin' in the aisle.<br>The way he moved, it was a sin, so sweet and true  
>Always wanting more, he'd leave you longing for."<br>_

And did I mention, she can sing? Really well. She breaks into another round of the chorus and I visibly gulp.

_ "Every word of every song that he sang was for you  
>In a flash he was gone, it happened so soon, what could you do?"<br>_

She makes a little twirl and comes around to stand in front of me, pushing herself between my thighs and looks down at me. For the first time I realize she has the prettiest blue eyes. I reach out and put my hand on the side of her thigh as she leans into me, more out of instinct to help prevent her falling on me but then I realize, it's the same gesture I would use on a stripper giving me a lap dance – which is how this is starting to feel. Again, not complaining…

_ "If you please, if you please, if you please…"_

I cannot take my eyes off her as she sings the last line of the song. She licks her lips at the end of the song and I find myself wondering what it would take to get her to lick something else. I should not be thinking this. I should shake my head or slap myself in the face or… put an ice cube down my shirt. But I can't move, cause Liz is lingering inches from my face, starring down at me and is it just me or…

"Umm… guys?" James interrupts, as Liz jumps back from me. "The waiter at the bar said you two needed to tone it down a bit… that it's a family establishment…"

"Sure… no problem," She smiles innocently, then turns to me. "Sid?"

"Nope… no problem…" I nod.

"It's your turn…" She hands me the mic.

"Yeah… I just need a minute…" I admit with a gulp, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I adjust the way I am sitting.

"Take your time…" She purrs and gives me a wink. Like that's going to help my boner go away. Watching her drop herself into Richards lap, on the other side of the table should help…


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"She's getting all the easy songs…" I whine to no one in particular.

"Whiner…" James laughs.

"What? It's true!"

" '_Hero__'_? '_Hero__'_ is not an easy song… Mariah Carey can cover, like, nine octaves!" Liz chimes in to defend herself. Whatever.

"Come on! That was way easier then… what was that last song I veto'ed?" I ask.

" '_Just__ Call __Me__ Angel __Of__ The __Morning__'_…" James offers with the same face I made when the computer picked it for me. Point made.

"Yeah, I'll give you that one. I think everyone here is thankful you veto'ed that one!" Liz laughs. "But I can't believe you wasted a veto on _'__Any__ Man __of __Mine__'_! That's a classic!"

"Yeah, well, can't afford to see that one on youtube so… now I only have one veto left!" I should have listened better to James when he warned me at the beginning of the game.

"You wasted them all at the beginning! You have to learn!" She shakes her finger at me.

"This is my first time playing this stupid game! And I didn't get '_Sweet__ Caroline__'_! You didn't even have to sing for that one! Everyone else sang for you!" I point out. I certainly didn't sing along. She doesn't need any help here.

"And it sounds to me like you're being a sore loser…" Liz rolls her eyes, lifting her beer to her lips. "By the way, it's your turn."

"Right. Let's see what I get stuck with this time…" I climb to my feet and head towards the machine of doom. She got 100% on Sweet Caroline, which made up for her mere 85% on the Mariah Carey song. That was her lowest score yet. I am screwed.

" '_Take__ My __Breath __Away__'_… Berlin… what's that one?" I read off the screen.

"You know… from Top Gun…" James explains and I rack my brain.

"The only song I remember from Top Gun is the one that they sing drunk in the bar…"

" '_You__'__ve __Lost __That __Lovin__' __Feeling__'_…" Liz offers knowingly.

"Yeah that one…"

"That's not it…" She smiles.

"Wow. Thanks." I offer sarcastically. "Pass."

"That was your last veto!" James points out, seemingly shocked that I would waste it.

"It's fine," I assure him. He looks like he is going to have an aneurism, as he looks back at the group of guys still hanging out but not really paying attention anymore. They only look up when the scores come up, otherwise their eyes are diverted to the local 'talent' working tonight. I get that James doesn't want to be chirped for siding with me here, especially if I lose badly, but he needs to calm the fuck down. He's not helping anyone.

"I. Will. Be. Fine." I say slowly but confidently. Liz mutters something under her breath, causing James to give me a stressed out, exasperated look. Great. She's not helping.

" '_I__ Wanna __Know__ What __Love __Is__'_… Foreigner…" I read off the screen. "What the fuck!" This machine is against me.

"Sing it Crosby…" Richards laughs from the back of the room. Figures _now_ he pays attention. Cock suck.

"He doesn't have to… he could always give up…" Liz reminds me of the rules.

"Yeah right…" I don't give up - apparently even when I should. "Give me the damn mic."

-.-

"Okay, what's up for me…" I climb to my feet and take the mic out of his hand. I hate that he did good on that song. I really do. I really thought I had him on that one. What guy can shamelessly sing an 80's love ballad? God damn it anyway. I thought this would be an easy win. I find myself putting way too much effort into this stupid game. I haven't cared about this stupid game in years!

" '_You__ Don__'__t__ Own_ _Me_' by Lesley Core?" James reads the screen. He clearly doesn't recognize the song. I do. It's perfect.

"Easy, peasy…" I brush my hands together and glare over at Richie, who has some damn blonde sitting in his lap. I hope he gets the point of this song. It sums up our entire relationship – if you can call it that.

"Fuck you!" Sid mutters and rolls his eyes at me getting another easy song and it brings me back to the reason I am here. It's not to prove a point to some over entitled millionaire… oh wait, yes it is. Just a different one then normal. I am going to belt out this bad boy.

-.-

"Your turn…" Liz stomps off the stage, handing me the mic. Wow, she sang that song with passion - to say the least. Luckily for me, that passion took her a little off script and her score was not so great. She seemed to be singing it _at_ someone. It didn't take long to figure out who and I loved watching her stare Richards down. Half way through the song, he moved the ditz off of his lap and seemed to have clued in. I don't entirely understand the tension there but… if it helps me win… I'll take all the help I can get right now.

"Let's see what hellish nightmare this things churns out…" I moan, taking my spot on the stage.

" '_What__ A__ Wonderful __World_'… Louis Armstrong," James, our self proclaimed MC, reads out.

"Sweet! Finally! A break!" YES! I can do this song! I practically jump up and down with glee as the tune of the song begins.

-.-

"Happy now?" Liz asks, as my score comes up on the screen. 100%! That's right! I rocked it! I smile proudly. I know she thought that she was going to win this but I am NOT going down without a fight. All those times being forced to sing karaoke while babysitting Mario's kids have totally paid off!

"Okay what do we have…" She turns to James who hits 'next' on the game consol. He pauses before reading the song and I watch as his finger hovers over the next button. "What? What is it?"

" '_You__ Say __It __Best __When __You __Say __Nothing __At __All_'… Allison Krause…" James reads off slowly, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Veto."

"Ha!" I burst out, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

"That was their wedding song you dip shit…" I hear from behind me, not sure who said it but I feel bad instantly.

"Oh, whoops… sorry…" I offer, sinking a little in my seat. How can I get blamed for not knowing that?

" '_I__'__ll__ Make__ Love__ To __You__'_… Boys to men…" James reads out, as we watch him hit 'next' again.

"I am NOT singing that song…" Liz protests. "I can't believe that's in there… That's gross…"

"What are you talking about? That song got me laid like crazy in Junior!" One of the guys in the back adds and everyone laughs and high fives him.

"You're gross!" Liz adds, throwing a balled up napkin towards the back of the room, rolling her eyes. "NEXT!"

James dutifully presses 'next' and we wait to hear what has come up. "Extreme, _'__More __then __Words__'_," he informs us and the smile returns to her face. Normally I enjoy seeing a smile on a beautiful woman but this one means I am fucked.

"This is locked down! That is my all time best song!" Liz clicks the mic to 'on' and James takes his seat. I watch as she sings, not even looking at the words on the screen. She hits every damn note, every up and down. As she wraps up the last line, James gives me a look of pure pity, as we wait for the score to come up onto the screen. Yup, she nails it. She doesn't even look at the screen to check her score, she knows she nailed it. She takes a seat and waves over another drink for herself. She seems so nonchalant about the whole thing. It just makes me wish I could beat her more. Damn it anyway. Oh well. At least I did my best.

"James, would you like to do the honour and collect our final scores?" She asks him, as a waiter places a large beer glass down in front of her. He nods and climbs to his feet, slowly heading to the machine, determining my fate – my humiliation ensuing.

"You know, I just wanna say, whatever the outcome, I had a lot of fun, so…" I offer, extending my hand for a peace making hand shake.

She looks down at my hand and back up at me and shakes her head. "Oh yeah? You think being diplomatic now is going to get you off easy when I beat you?"

"You don't know that you beat me…" I point out matter of factly and she quickly responds with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh pullezzze…"

"I guess we will see…" I shrug and look over to James who is fiddling with the instruction book.

"Dude? What's the freakin score?" I snap at him.

"Ummm… 92% for Liz and 93% for Sid," James reads slowly.

"HA! I beat you! I win!" Shit, this is almost as good as a Cup!

"Nope…" Liz smiles and shakes her head. At first I think she is just in denial but everyone in the room seems to be laughing at me again. It's getting kinda old. Did James just bring me here to be the bud of every joke? "The computer doesn't determine a winner if you are within 2% of each other, assumes computer error… so you go into sudden death… song for song…like a shoot out."

'What? That's bullshit!" Damn, I was so close.

"Computer error… 2% leeway…" James points down to the instruction manual.

"So I have to keep singing?" I ask, just to clarify the hell I am in.

"Until you beat me…" Liz smiles sweetly and then adds, "Or give up…"

"I don't give up!" I snap at her and grab the mic off the table.

"We're going to be here all night…" Someone adds from behind us. Damn right we are.

I stomp up to the stage and slam the 'Next' button. '_How __Deep __Is __Your __Love__'_ the Beegees. Great. Just fucking great.

-.-

"Okay, next up is Miss Elizabeth," Sid watches the computer scroll up the next instructions. I think we have been singing now for three hours. I am tired. He is tired. My throat hurts, his throat hurts. The only difference at this point of the night? I am drunk, he is not. I should have laid off the beer about six songs back. "No veto's left – you gotta sing whatever it picks…" Sid reminds me, as I slide off the seat, trying to not look as inebriated as I am. It's all good. I can still sing.

"Bring it." I can't believe I just said that. What am I, a sixteen year old cheerleader? Shit…

"Ohhhh…" The guys - who are _way_ drunker then me – are egging me on. I blame them.

"I'll take ten on Lizzie…" I can hear them betting.

"No way, put me for a twenty note on Sid, the dude is rockin it!"

"Wow, winning at Karaoke… I don't see this getting added to his Wikipedia page…"

"Especially when he loses…"

"Hey you guys? Would you mind?" Sid snaps behind him. The guy is taking this deadly serious. It's pretty funny. Everyone apologizes to him but I can't help but giggle. Sid snaps his head back to me fiercely and I stop laughing. Serious face engaged. Not for long though, as I start laughing again for no particular reason.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry," I apologize, trying to get a handle on my giggling fit.

"Are you ready?" Sid asks and I nod, pulling the mic up to my chin with two hands. "And the song the game has chosen for you is… '_Nothing __Compares __To Y__ou,_' Sinead O'Conner…"

"Oh, fuck my life," I utter barely above a whisper. Unfortunately the mic is on, so everyone heard me. I look up and scan the crowd. Nobody is laughing anymore. James appears at my side and places his hand on my far shoulder, pulling me into him protectively.

"You don't have to do it," He offers softly.

I consider backing down, tapping out, but that just simply isn't me. "I'll be fine."

"Lizzie?" Richards appears at the far side of the stage. He's the last person I want offering support. Fuck him.

"Just get me another beer would you?" I bark at him and he nods, getting the point and backing away. I turn and nod to James who moves back to the table and takes his seat, not once taking his eyes off me.

The computer begins its short beginning riff and I brace the microphone. I can see all the guys in the room looking up at me, all of them ready to jump up and help me but I am determined to prove that I can do it. Even it it's a total lie.

_"__It's__ been __seven __hours __and __fifteen __days, __since __you __took __your __love __away__…"_

Oh fuck. The first line and I can already feel tears swelling. So much for acting tough. This song… it just kills me. Mike and James both climb to their feet again, ready to drag me off this stage but I am not giving in.

"_I__ go __out __every __night __and __sleep __all __day, __since __you __took __your __love __away  
>since <em>_you've __been __gone__ I __can __do __whatever __I __want  
>I<em>_ can __see __whomever __I__ choose  
>I <em>_can __eat __my __dinner __in __a __fancy __restaurant  
>but <em>_nothing  
>I<em>_ said __nothing __can__ take __away __these __blues,_

_'cause __nothing __compares  
>nothing<em>_ compares__ to __you_

_It's been __so __lonely __without __you __here  
>like <em>_a __bird __without __a __song  
>nothing<em>_ can __stop __these __lonely __tears __from__ falling  
>tell <em>_me __baby __where __did __I __go __wrong?  
>I<em>_ could __put __my __arms __round__ every__ boy __I __see  
>but<em>_ they'd __only __remind __me __of __you  
><em>

_I went to the doctor guess what he told me  
>guess what he told me<br>he said girl you better try to have fun  
>no matter what you do<br>but he's a fool_

_'cause nothing compares_  
><em>nothing compares to you…"<em>

I have made it this far… I can make it through the god damn musical interlude… if it would hurry the fuck up! I know the next verse is the hardest to get through but then I'll be done… just sing the words, don't hear them…

_All the flowers that you planted mother  
>in the backyard<br>all died when you went away  
>I know that living with you, baby, was sometimes hard<br>but I'm willing to give it another try_

"Nothing compares, nothing compares to you"

I finish the last three repeats of the song and then put the mic down. Everyone in the room is silent and staring at me. I brush away the tears on my cheek - I don't even know when they started - and slowly walk towards my chair, where there is a large beer waiting for me. I reach for it, lift it to my lips and drink the whole god damned thing.

"You're up…" I say to Sid, placing the empty glass down on the table.

"I think you won…" he says softly, clearly avoiding looking at me.

"What?" I snarl.

"You win."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Get up there and sing!" I yell at him.

Sid just shakes his head. I look at James and he lowers his eyes to the table.

"Don't be a fucking pussy!" I yell again, tears springing to my eyes again and I fight to hold them in.

"Okay Lizzie, let's go…" James stands and places his hands on my shoulders.

"Why won't he sing?" I sob burying my head in James chest. I feel him place his hand on the back of my head and stroke my hair.

"Because you're crying… you win by default…" Sid shakes his head.


	8. Chapter 8

_*Sorry guys, cut my finger on a chef's knife making Christmas dinner and now I can't type worth shit! chapters might be a little slow coming for a while..._**  
><strong>

**Chapter Eight**

"Hey dude, whatcha workin' on?" I step onto the rink and skate towards the kid at center ice, shooting the puck against the sideboards. I think his name is Lucas. I think that's the name I heard Angela screech when she was barking out orders and didn't realize anyone was around. As soon as she saw James and I standing in the hall, she did a 180 degree flip and tried to act all syrupy sweet. Not sure how dumb she thinks I am but come on! Did she really think I'd buy that?

"Um… just my backhand. Coach says that I need to improve on it a bit…" He shrugs. "If you need the ice, I can go…"

"No, no, don't be silly. It looks like you're doing pretty good…" I offer, watching the kid, drop his eyes to the ice, clearly no confidence in himself. If I was his coach, that might be the first thing I would tell him to work on.

"Yeah well, practice makes perfect right?" he smiles shyly, still avoiding eye contact. That's not entirely uncommon for me. Kids tend to either get intimidated or try and show off when they are on the ice with me. I guess I prefer shy to cocky anyway. I remember being the same way with Gretzky at a three day camp when I was fourteen – too star struck to talk, too nervous with him watching me to skate properly. I was a mess. My dad lectured me that night. The next day, I was better and Gretzky noticed me.

"For sure…" I nod and with my stick reach for one of the pucks, giving him a light pass. Lucas grabs it easily, does a simple figure eight stick handling drill, then fires it at the side boards on his backhand. Quiet a bit of force, which is good, but accuracy is just as important. I grab another puck and pass it to him, this time a little high from his passing range, making him move for the puck. He reaches for it easily, conducts the same drill and hits the same spot he hit the first time.

"Good job. How often do you work on your backhand?" I ask, taking a shot on my own.

"Umm… as often as I can. Whenever the ice is free or whatever," He explains. "Coach said I also have to work on my faceoffs and gain ten pounds… so this is really the only one I can do on my own…" Sounds exactly like what my coach told me.

"How are the faceoffs coming?" I ask again, knowing how hard faceoffs can be to improve on.

"Not too bad… Liz works with me in her free time…" he explains and I am caught a bit off guard, finding myself smiling at just the mention of her. I have tired not to think about her too much since last night, pushing myself through the trainer's drills and shooting practice but I can't help but feel like shit about the whole thing. James basically carried her out of the bar and I wanted to go and check on her but after we got back to the school, I kinda lost track of where she went and… well… now I just haven't seen her yet. She had quite a bit to drink so I'm not entirely surprised at her absence at breakfast but it's getting pretty late in the afternoon. You can normally see her running about, looking like she has a million things to do which I am sure she does but still… her absence is making me nervous. I hope she's not mad at me or avoiding me or anything… I won't lie, I thought that maybe she would be here at the rink and that's why I came down, instead of heading to the golf course with some of the guys. That and spending the afternoon with Richards and Giroux, chirping me on the green, didn't sound like much fun. At least now I get to work on some on-ice stuff that I am afraid has slipped while I have been off – like faceoffs.

"Oh yeah? You wanna work on them now?"

"Really?" Lucas looks shocked. Anyone who knows me, knows that I'll pretty much play with anyone who is willing to play against me. "I mean, um, yeah! That would be great… if you don't mind…"

"Sure no problem, ten pucks back and forth?" I suggest. We'll start with ten, see how long he can go before wishing I was dead. I could do it all day.

"Yeah, sure!"

"Gather them up rookie…"

-.-

Fuck, I need some cold air. I thought cleaning out the industrial freezer would do the trick but it wasn't what I needed. Too confined, too stale. There is nothing like the cold air of the arena. It has a certain feeling about it.

I reach out and crack the door to the barn and instantly feel the sensation I needed. I don't know how to explain it. It's just comforting. Almost solves the pain of the hangover. Who the hell let me drink so much anyway? Seriously…

I moan out loud when I hear the barn isn't empty. I was really hoping for some quiet time, just to lie across a bench or up in the stands and stare at the ceiling. Maybe I can scare them away? I thought they all went golfing. I head up the hall to the ice and see who two guys standing at the center dot, throwing pucks down in faceoff drills. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, given who it is. Lucas was practically born on this ice and Sid… well… is Sid. It's pretty common knowledge the guy is a rink rat at heart. So am I, so I won't judge.

I didn't really want to see him today. I didn't really want to see anyone but as I stand here at the side of the rink, watching, I can't make my feet move away. Looking out onto the glass is like looking through a port hole into the past – just replace one hockey player with another. I have a picture in an album of Charlie teaching his brother how to take faceoffs, right here, in this exact same position. Of course, Lucas is shorter but if you didn't know better, you would swear it's Charlie out there right now. I feel a tear form at the corner of my eye and quickly wipe it away.

"Keep your elbow up," I listen as Sid instructs Lucas, before throwing the rubber down on the dot. Lucas sweeps the puck between his feet, just like he was taught and comes back up for another puck. Sid throws it down, Lucas sweeps it away. They continue until Sid is out of the pucks in his hand. Lucas then dutifully skates around behind him and gathers the pucks back to center ice - like the younger player should. If anything, the kid knows respect, the '_hockey code_'. It has been drilled into him from day one.

Sid watches Lucas collecting the pucks, collecting them into a pile. Lucas gathers them into his hands and bends over from the waist to drop for Sid. Sid uses the exact same form and technique and expertly pulls them back. I wonder how long these two have been going at it? Lucas drives me nuts when I give in and come out to help him, he never wants to stop, never gets tired. He could do the exact same thing a thousand times in a row and never get bored.

Lucas drops the last puck and instead of aiming for the puck, Sid shoves his stick into the blade of Lucas's skate and knocks him off balance, sending him to the ice hard on his ass. I accidentally let out a gasp. I'm normally better at seeing guys fall but in my eyes Lucas is still the little kid running around, chasing his brother, wobbly on his skates. I'm a little protective. The two guys look over at me.

"You gotta stay on your feet," Sid warns him, extending his hand to help pull him back up to his feet. Pretty sure if Sidney knocked me to the ice, I'd be pissed but Lucas is beaming from ear to ear. "I think that's enough for today bud."

"Oh, okay thanks… I'm just gonna stay out here…" Lucas offers. Sid laughs and skates over towards me.

I open the gate door for him and step out of the way while he steps off the ice. "That was nice of you… to work with him. He kinda needs a little push sometimes…" I smile. "I appreciate it."

"My back is going to be sore. We've been out here for a long while now. Kid never gets tired... but he's definitely got talent," He nods, looking back out as Lucas starts practicing his backhand shot.

"Yeah, yeah he does…" Duh. Of course he does, he's a Ross.

"He doesn't seem to realize it though."

"No, he knows, he just hides it…" I correct him. "He's watched his whole family fall apart because of hockey…how inclined would you be to work on your drills?"

"I guess… why do you still work with him?" Sid asks, turning back to me.

"What do you mean?"

"He said you help him with faceoffs. You've seen all the same things, wouldn't you rather see him be a psychologist or something?"

"That's funny… hockey player turned psychologist…" He would have a line up down the block. I look back out to the ice and can see Lucas running turn and stop drills with the puck on his stick. "I guess… I guess he reminds me of his brother. I used to help him and it just takes me back to a different time, when things were easier, better." Wow, getting a little to sappy here. I snap myself out of it and put on my business tone. "Plus it would be really great for this place if he made something out of himself. Have a name associated once again."

"Right…" Sid nods. I am sure he understands how endorsements work and didn't come here to be sucked into some sob story about this school. In fact, I still don't know why he _is_ here. "Listen I, um, wanted to apologize for last night…"

"No, please… you don't need to do that…" I beg him to stop cause you know... this isn't awkward.

"No, I do. I just get really competitive… I should have let it go. I didn't mean for you to get upset…" Sid looks down at me with guilt in his eyes. I have seen this look from enough people to last a life time.

"It's not your fault! It was just one of those songs…" Jesus, I do not want to have this conversation.

"Yeah… I kinda caught that…" He nods and shifts uncomfortably on his skates. Wow, if he's uncomfortable, he should imagine how I feel right now.

"Yeah, it was embarrassing…" I add and we continue to stand in awkward silence, the sound of pucks hitting the boards ringing out behind us. Why couldn't he just be like all the other guys and pretend it didn't happen? That would be soooooooo much easier.

"You sang it really well…" Sid offers quietly.

"Thanks."

"So, um, what are the plans for dinner tonight? James mentioned some restaurant?"

"Yeah, The Cornerstone, our old hangout… good memories there…" I nod, glad for the change in subject. "Good burgers, sandwiches… a change from the chain restaurants, you know?"

"Sounds good… I'm starving!" He rubs his stomach and I can't help but laugh.

"Hockey players are all the same… you're always hungry…" I offer and head to the door, cracking it open with a push on the crash bar but the door barely budges, as there is a body blocking its path.

-.-

"Hockey players are all the same… you're always hungry…" She laughs and heads to the door, cracking it open and letting the bright light from the sunny summer day stream into the dark hall of the rink. I have to squint to help my eyes adjust but it looks like she is struggling with the weight of it and isn't able to get it open all the way.

I step out of the stream of light and let my eyes focus and can see that her struggles have ended as a bulky older man steps into the light.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Where is Charlie? Where is he?" The older man starts yelling, like my grandfather when he doesn't realize that his hearing aid is turned off.

"Oh fuck…" Liz swears under her breath as the old man steps into the rink, stomps past us and heads into the dressing room.

"Who's that?" I ask, watching him wander off.

"Charlie's dad…" she whispers under her breath, burying her face momentarily in her hand. She takes a moment and then steps past me and enters the dressing room after him. I can't help but follow.

"Charles? What are you doing over here? Where's Louissa?" Liz inquires, using a calm voice that most people would reserve for helping a lost child.

"Where's Charlie? He has to mow the lawn! Just because he's got a bit of God-given talent, doesn't mean he get out of doing his chores!"

"Okay Charles, I'll… I'll let him know…" Liz offers, trying to usher the older man out of the dressing room. Upon closer inspection, he doesn't appear that old… maybe 50? 55-ish? Not that far off from my dad anyway...

"The grass is getting long! It's going to jam up the mower blades! That kid! He can't do anything right!" Charles shakes his head and wanders off, back out into the hall and across to another dressing room. Liz's hands spring up and cover her face and her shoulders begin to shake. I step in quickly and place my hand on the back of her shoulder, attempting to pull her into me. It's instinct. You see a crying woman and you want to help but she pushes me away and quickly wipes the tears off her face.

"Please help me get him out of here before Lucas sees him!" She pleas, looking over my shoulder to where she can still see Charles fiddling around the room across the hall.

"Sure of course… let me just slip off my skates," I nod and plop down on the nearest bench. I normally pay attention when I take my skates off, do an inspection of the steel, the edge, the laces, then give the boot a once over with a towel but for now I just dump them on the ground and slip on my sandals.

"Hey there sir, it's a pleasure to meet you," I head into the dressing room after Liz and introduce myself, extending my hand but he just looks down at my hand and then back up at me, as if he is trying to rake his memory for who I am.

"Who are you?" Charles Sr. snaps at me.

"I'm Sidney, a friend of Charlie's…" I offer hesitantly. He looks at me suspiciously but he seems to buy it.

"Oh… well I'm sorry son but he can't play hockey till he's finished mowing the lawn. You'll have to come back later…" Wow. He sounds just like my dad – or rather dad's of my friends when I would harass them to play hockey every minute of every day as a kid. It's scary actually. It's scary to imagine that my dad could turn into this if anything happened to me.

"Ms Ross, I am so sorry," A large Caribbean woman in nursing scrubs barges into the room, seemingly out of breath. "I was just unpacking the groceries and I turned around and he was gone…"

"It's fine, just – just get him out of here and don't let it happen again," Liz assures her and waves her hand towards Mr. Ross, as the nurse moves across the room and begins convincing the senile man to leave the room. She successfully convinces him to leave with the bribe of some fresh baked banana bread and they leave the confined space.

I look over to see if Liz is okay and there is a pained, yet vacant look on her face.

"I'm really sorry you had to see that…" She begins. "Please don't say anything…"

"I won't, I promise," I assure her. Who am I going to tell? We stand in silence but my mind is anything but quiet. "Was he always like that or...?" I ask, not able to stop myself any longer.

"No, he lost it after…" I watch as she pauses and I nod in understanding. "The guilt and everything… ate him up…"

"Right, gotcha." She doesn't need to explain anymore. I can tell it's still hard for her to talk about and it's selfish of me to want to discuss it any further, even if I feel like I just saw the Ghost of Christmas Future. Damn.

"I should get back to the lodge, I've got a lot to do and now apparently I need to mow the lawn," she laughs to herself but I can see she isn't laughing on the inside.

"Sure…" I nod and watch her go, feeling my heart breaking for the girl.

I think I'll go call my dad.


	9. Chapter 9

_*I know this is a short chapter but if I left it connected to chapter 10, is was crazy long. I will put up chapter 10 shortly though so it won't be a long wait!**  
><strong>_

**Chapter Nine**

I excuse myself from the table at the Cornerstone and head to the bathroom. There are only so many '_Charlie was a hero'_ stories I can hear at a time. I have to take many, many breaks throughout an evening like this one. They clearly didn't know who he really was, or maybe they do and are more able, _more willing_, then I am to bury those memories. He would have outscored everyone at that table. He would have rubbed it in their faces. They probably swore at the very sight of him on more then one occasion but as they gather here, they seem to forget all that. Maybe it's all just part of the _hockey code_ but that's a bunch of bullshit too.

I step into the ladies room and stroll up to the counter. I wet a napkin and wipe the back of my neck for refreshment and then decide some gloss might do the trick, help give me a little boost. As I smear my lips with my strawberry flavoured, slightly pink gloss I notice what can only be described as frown lines. Lines - as in _wrinkles_. I am not old enough for wrinkles! That is just salt on the wound!

I stop making faces in the mirror as some other women come into the room, laughing and giggling. They offer me a simple smile and I nod back, before grabbing my purse and making my exit. Whatever they were talking about, I doubt they want some wrinkly stranger eavesdropping.

As I step into the hall, I see Mike standing, leaning against the wall, looking down into the screen of the phone. Shit.

"What are you doing?" I ask him and upon hearing my voice, his head darts up.

"Oh hey, I just came to see if you were alright…" he offers and stands up straight, dropping his phone into his back pocket. He is wearing acid-washed jeans that are maybe a bit on the tight side and a casual t-shirt that pulls across the muscles in his chest and shoulders. I know he probably spent a lot of time doing his hair, just to make it look like he didn't spend time on it. I don't want to admit that he looks good - and that if I were any other girl in this bar, I would probably be drooling - but that might just be a fact I can't avoid.

"I'm fine," I offer with a roll of my eyes but lower my head to my feet uncomfortably. Sometimes I think it's sweet how much he cares.

"You look beautiful tonight."

"Thanks," I reply sincerely, letting myself for a second look up into his green eyes. He slips his hand around my waist and pulls me in towards him, letting the two girls that were in the washroom with me slip past as they emerge in the narrow hall. I look up quickly and see them both flash him a familiar smile and turn back in time to see him smile right back. I have spent enough time around hockey players to know a puck bunny and to recognize a player when I see it. I push away from Mike's wide chest and silently lecture myself for being stupid enough to think for even a moment I was standing in front of a changed man.

"You were always the most beautiful woman in this town," he assures me, reaching out and tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Mike…" I warn him, shaking my head.

"I bet you'd fit in real good in L.A…" He breaths, just over a whisper.

"I am NOT going to L.A. with you!" Not this shit again! How many times do we have to go over this? Every summer it's the same shit! After Charlie died, he all but packed my bags for Philadelphia. I visited him a couple times but just couldn't handle the idea of being away from a place I had called my home for so long. "Goddamnit already! Get it through your head!"

"You can just stay here your whole life. There is nothing here for you," He snaps back.

"You don't think I know that?"

"Do you? Then why stay?"

"I dunno…" I reply honestly. "I just… I have to…"

"You don't. Come to L.A., be with me and…"

"And what? We'll live happily ever after?" I can't help but laugh.

"Why not?" He barks. Two seconds ago he had two girls flirting with him right in front of me. Is he really this stupid? Does he really think_ I_ am that stupid? I am certainly not going through all _that_ again.

"Can you give it all up? All the women and the drinking and the partying, being the superstar? Can you really be with just one woman? I don't think you know how…"

"I can." He attempts to assure me but I can tell he is uncomfortable just saying it, never mind actually committing to it.

"Really?"

"Yes _REALLY_! Give me some damn credit here Liz!" He snaps angrily. "And besides, it's not like you made Charlie do it!"

"That was low…" I can tell the second he said it he regretted it. I know he probably didn't mean it to hurt me but… wow, did it ever.

"I'm sorry…" he stumbles out an apology. "I'm just saying that I'm not like him!"

"I think you are…" I state as unemotionally as I can. I can see his temper rising, as his fists clench at his side and his jaw muscles flex.

"No, I am not!" He hisses. "Unlike him, I fucking stuck around when things got hard!"

Ouch. And there it is again, that sharp tongue of his at work. "Wow, really? That's where you are going with this? Well gee golly, better buy me a plane ticket to Hollywood, cause you just totally sold me!"

"Liz… I'm sorry… I didn't mean… that came out wrong," he stutters but I am so far beyond done with this conversation.

"Whatever, I'm going back to the table."

"Lizzie…" he reaches for me one last time but I shake off his hand firmly and walk away.

-.-

I know beyond a doubt that somewhere I have an ex-teammate sitting in a bar right now, maybe somewhere in Quebec, maybe even back home in Cole Harbour, telling embarrassing stories about me, trying to come across as cool for knowing me or playing with me or whatever. Maybe he is trying to get into some girls pants, maybe he is just trying to be respected on his rec league. At least he is not telling stories to honour my memory, to cover up the pain of passing, maybe the guilt of not doing more to help me. That is the last thing I would ever want.

I tune into stories all around the room. James is off to one side, talking to one of his junior teammates about some pranks they pulled. I have heard my fair share of prank stories. Beside me some guys, who I think play in the CHL or ECHL, are sharing some more entertaining stories and it seems like the more alcohol they get into them the more entertaining the stories get. And the more inappropriate.

"Oh my God! Remember dat night in Altantic City? We went and play poker in dat sketchy basement…" one of the French guys recalls.

"Oh shit I thought we were going to die! Some Jersey Guido was going to come and put a bullet between our eyes for winning!"

"Charlie was killing them!" The guy on my right turns to me and begins explaining. "He was up thousands on the guys and they were not happy! But he was like, cool as a cucumber man. No sweat. Just like an everyday situation, no more stress then brushing your teeth."

"We were all like, _'Dude, how can you be so fucking calm? You're about to get us all shot!'_ "

"And if we weren't shot, we'd still have to explain to our coaches why we were two hours past curfew!" Another guy chimed in and everyone roared with laughter.

"It might have been better to have been shot!"

"No shit!"

"Anyways, can I finish my story?" The guy beside me cuts them all off. "We asked him, how are you so calm? And he smiled, winked and pointed under the table. We were all like, _'Fuck, is he stacking the deck? Does he have hidden cards? We are all going to die!'_ but no, under the table, he had this little Jersey girl, with big hair and fake nails with her hand wrapped around his cock, pumping away!" The guy makes the stroking gesture, as if I don't know what a hand job looks like.

"He was getting a hand job under the table!"

"And we didn't know then but it was one of the big guys' daughters!"

"We would have all died!"

"Wow…" I breath. If one guy had told me the story, I wouldn't have believed it but the whole group of them were there for it. That added a ounce of credibility to what I would normally brush off as one of my dad's famous fishing stories - the ones where the landed fish gets bigger each time he tells it.

"It was awesome! That was Charlie though, livin' on the edge!" The guy besides me lowers his head and shakes it solemnly. A moment of silence falls over all of them, as seems to be the tradition at the end of every story told so far tonight. I respect the silence and reach for my wine glass. At the same time I see Liz reach for hers, with a vacant look on her face. I hadn't noticed that she had been sitting there. I had seen her get up and leave the table only a couple minutes ago, I didn't know she was back. I watch in a slight panic, as she lifts the glass to her lips and pours the remainder of the glass into her mouth. I don't know how much of the last story she had heard, or if she had heard the story before. I don't know what the protocol is here, as I look over to James for help but realize that he sees the same thing that I do.

-.-

I wish I had noticed what story they had started telling, so I could have tried to get them to stop telling it. I guess no one saw her re-enter the room. Normally the guys are good at editing their stories for when she is around – you know, making them appropriate and all. Not that Charlie ever was really. I hated the way he treated her. I hated knowing that while he had some girl sucking him off in the back of some arena, Liz was back home thinking everything was alright. I don't think anyone ever told her. Maybe if someone had, she wouldn't be stuck in the hell she is now.

I see her remove the napkin from her lap and gently fold it and place it across the plate in front of her. There is still lots of food on the plate that she hasn't even touched. She reaches for her freshly topped up glass of wine and tips it into her mouth, not stopping until the glass is empty again. I don't blame her for drinking tonight. If I were her, I would be smashed too.

She pushes back her chair and excuses herself from the table again, offering a friendly smile to the guy now perched at her side, who helps move the chair out of the way as she slides past him gracefully. I watch as she heads back towards the bathrooms and make a mental note that if she isn't back in a minute or two, I'll get one of the female waitresses to check on her.

I rejoin the conversations around me, telling stories, everyone trying to one-up each other on their amazing conquests or achievements to date. I can't help but laugh because it seems like as soon as someone thinks they have made it to the top of the story telling pyramid, on some amazing goal or scoring record they have broken, Sid drops a fork, or spills his wine or sneezes, and it reminds everyone who is sitting at this table. None of them have anything on that guy.

After dinner we all clear out of the restaurant area and head into the adjacent lounge, where the locals are forced out of their regular routine's by the invading army of twenty or so hockey players. Everyone in the room looks at Sid and you can see them debating with each other if that's _really_ him or not. Nobody comes up to him though, which is nice and not something that would happen in most Canadian towns.

It takes a while before I realize the room is one person short. damn. I forgot to check on her. Has she been gone this whole time? I don't even know.

"Have you seen Liz?" I lean in and ask Sid, who is still potentially the most sober of the lot.

Sid looks around "Ummm… no not for a while…"

"Shit."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"What are you doing out here?" I hear from behind me and turn around briefly to see Sid standing there, out of breath from his late night jog. He lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and I get a quick glimpse of his fucking amazing abs. I'm going to need another drink…

"Um… duh… drinking…" I pour myself another shot and take the little glass between my clumsy fingers, tipping it gently against my lips. The first couple of shots burned as they went down but I am far beyond the point of having the ability to taste the alcohol, never mind feel it in my throat.

"Everyone is looking for you…" he explains, coming up to picnic table I am draped over.

"I am playing hide and go fuck yourself right now… I am winning…" I inform him and do my best to pour myself another shot. I think I got some in the glass… good enough anyway…

"Okay, I think you've probably had enough of that…" he declares, reaching out and pulling the glass out of my hands before it makes it to my lips. Ass.

"I think you're wrong…" I correct him. He can have the fucking glass… I still have the bottle… hehehe… can't fool me…

"And I'll take that too…" Sid easily removes the bottle from my fingers. Damn. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"No! Give me back my tequila and leave me alone! Don't you have push ups or burpees to do?" I stand and reach for the bottle and stumble forward. So graceful, just like a ballerina! Tada!

"Nope, not even_ I_ do burpees at midnight… come on," He grabs my arm, throwing it over his shoulder, his hands are on my waist and then before I know it, I am upside down, over his shoulder. My head bobs and it makes me dizzy as he carries me away from my friend – the tequila bottle.

-.-

"Okay let's get these off…" I move to the end of the bed and pull one boot off at a time, tossing them to the corner of her room.

"Hey! Be careful with those… they were expensive!" She instructs me with a slur. I roll my eyes. Wow, I love drunk girls. They are so much fun. My biggest hope is that I get out of this room without drunk girl barf on me.

"Sorry… if you weren't plastered, you could take them off yourself…"

"I'm fine…" She insists trying to sit up in the bed but her elbow gives out and she falls right down with a _thwhomp_ and a giggle.

"My ass, you're fine…" I attempt to lift her legs, to get her beneath her sheets but she kicks them away from me. It's sloppy and clumsy and I'm afraid she is going to kick me in the face.

"I am…" She giggles, as I grab her legs and swing her around on the bed.

"Mmmmhmmm…" I ignore her and tuck her in. I lace my fingers through her hair and gently lift her head just enough to slide a pillow underneath it. She wiggles into the pillow and I brush some hair out of her face. Her eyes are shut and she looks peaceful and beautiful... if she didn't wreak of booze, it would be hard for me not to feel something more right now.

"Anything else you need?" I ask her quietly.

"My pills…"

"Pills?" I look over at the bedside table and don't see anything.

"Top drawer…" her arm flops across the bed, pointing towards the drawer on the bedside table.

"Okay," I pull open the drawer and paw through a couple of books and hand creams to find a bottle of prescription pills. I try and read the label… _Triazolam_…"What are these? Sleeping pills?" I ask nervously.

"Give me!" she reaches for the jar but I pull them away quickly.

"Umm… I don't think I should do that… they say don't take with alcohol…" I read off the label.

"I need them…" She pouts and tries to reach for them again. I'm no doctor but I've heard of enough problems to know better then to let her have them.

"No, I think you'll be fine… you have enough booze in you…" I slide the bottle into my back pocket and then reach to tuck her arm back under the sheets.

"I need them to sleep… I can't without them…" she continues to protest.

"Well then, I guess you'll be awake all night 'cause I am not letting you have them…" There is no more argument here.

"You're an asshole! Give me my pills!" She hisses, the giggly drunk stage clearly over.

"No." I say firmly, stepping back from the side of bed. I realize that this argument is not going anywhere friendly and the best thing is probably that I leave. I'll track down one of the guys to come and check on her but I am far overstepping my place here.

I turn and head to the door as she crumples to the bed sobbing into her hands. I feel like the enemy here and I am _not_ the enemy.

"You don't understand! You don't know what it's like…" She calls after me, as I reach the door.

"No, no I don't…" I pause and turn back around to face her. She has swung her feet out from beneath the blanket, tears are streaking down her pale cheeks and she looks so lost, so distraught that I can't just leave, like I know I should. "You could explain it to me..."

"I can't… I can't close my eyes… I can't see it… not again…" she sobs, her shoulders shaking.

"Okay, okay… shhh…" I take the couple steps and find myself in front of her again, pulling her up and in towards me, as she sobs into my shoulder. I lay my hand on the back of her head and smooth her hair, resting my chin on the side of her head. I am so out of my comfort zone here. I just let her cry cause I don't know what else I should say or do.

"Please…" she mutters into my chest and I can feel her hand creeping up my chest towards the pocket that I have stored the pills in. I reach up and grab her hand and pull it back down gently.

"No, I am sorry," I offer, barely above a whisper as another round of sobs escape her. "If something happened, it would be my fault and… I can't live with that…"

"No, no, no!" She begs, clinging to me and gathering the material of my shirt in her fists. I have to hold her up as her knees begin to give in on her.

"Come on… climb back into bed…" I direct her to back to her bed but she pulls away from me.

"NO!" she cries, shaking her head adamantly, as if I am asking her to jump off a cliff into a river filled with piranhas with me.

"Come on, it'll be okay… just lie down…" I do my best to assure her.

"I can't do it…" She continues to protest, pulling back from me, as I guide her back down to the pillows.

"You can and you will," I snap at her in a voice as I can only describe as my mother's. She looks at me like a deer in headlights, her eyes wide as plates, shocked that I would sound so forceful. I soften my voice and offer, "I'll stay until you fall asleep. I'll be right here, just lie down…"

"I don't want to…" she says softly, but I just shake my head and another wave of tears begin to fall over her cheeks.

"Okay, okay, shhhh…" I collect her into my arms and feel her press her wet face back into my shoulder. I let her cry for a minute, then press her back from my chest and scoop her up under her knees, placing her down on the mattress in front of us. I know I can't just leave her, so I kick off my shoes and climb in beside her, pulling the blanket up over both of us, as she nuzzles herself into the crock of my armpit.

"Come here. Shhhh… it'll be okay…" I comfort her as she continues to cry. My new plan is to stay until she falls asleep and then go find James or Mike. One of them should be in here with her, not me.

-.-

So last night, didn't go exactly as planned. Liz didn't fall asleep for hours, just cried and cried and cried. It was heart breaking. At some point both of us nodded off because I woke up early this morning with her still curled into my shoulder. My first instinct was to check the pill bottle in my pocket, to make sure she didn't get into it when I fell asleep but to my relief it was still securely in place.

I wiggled out from beneath her and tucked her beneath her blankets before slipping out of her room and back to mine. After a quick shower and change out of my gross sweaty and tear stained jogging clothes, I headed down to the dining room where the guys would have all been gathered for breakfast.

"Hey Mike," I approach from behind, finally noticing a second when he isn't surrounded by his bone head entourage. I wanted to make sure I got him at the right time because I am really worried about Liz and I know he is too. As much as we have our differences, I think he'll see I'm trying to do the right thing here. "I was hoping I could chat with you for a sec'…"

"What do you want?" he growls at me, sliding his breakfast tray into it's slot on the rack. Okay, maybe not. His response instantly makes me feel like I am making the wrong decision by trying to talk to him but I know deep down it's for the best.

"Hey come on man, this shit is getting old. I'm trying to help you out here," I try and appeal to the non-Flyer in him.

He pauses and I can see that he's trying to decide whether or not to believe me. "Fine. What's up?"

"Last night, I uh, found Liz down by the rink," I begin. "She was drinking – "

"She's an adult. She's allowed to drink," he snarks, probably still a little sensitive about the accusations of his own liquid lifestyle out in Philly. Personally, I don't doubt the stories but it's none of my business.

"She was drunk off her tree," I state.

"She's got a lot to deal with…"

"So drinking yourself stupid is the way to handle that?" I question him and then question myself. Why am I even trying to talk to this moron? Why am I even involved? It would be a hundred times easier to walk away and brush the problem under the carpet, like all these guys seem to do. Why can't I just walk away?

"Anyways, that's not the point," I waive off my question, knowing that I have to do this. "I took the booze away and everything and helped her up to her room –"

'You didn't fuck her did you? I'll fucking KILL you!" He practically jumps me, grabbing my shirt and pulling back his fist. So much for a discrete conversation, as some of the other guys in the room shift their attention to us.

"Whoa! No, I didn't fuck her! What the fuck is wrong with you?" I push him away from me fiercely. Maybe that's what he would do, but not me! "I took her to her room and made sure she was okay! What the fuck kinda creep do you think I am? Jesus!"

He takes a minute to compute what I just said before letting his fists unclenched – slightly. "So, what's the point? Why are you telling me?"

"Well, when I was tucking her in, she asked for these…" I reach into my pocket and pull out the prescription pill bottle I smuggled out of Liz's room last night. I am sure she will be missing them soon enough. I hand the bottle over to Richards, who turns the bottle around in his hand and reads the label.

"What's the big deal? What are they?" He asks with a confused expression.

"They are pretty strong sleeping pills. She wanted to take them last night. You can't mix them with alcohol," I explain. "I thought, you know, since you seem to be trying to take care of her or whatever, that you should know…"

Mike just stares down at the bottle blankly. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Maybe you could talk to her, make her realize it's not a good idea…" I suggest.

"What like she's my responsibility?" He snaps.

"No, I just thought – "

"You just thought that I have some sort of fucked up hero complex…"

"No, I just – " Well, this is going well.

"Listen, if Liz has to medicate herself to sleep through the night, who the fuck am I to say anything?" he hands me back the bottle of sleeping pills. "If you dealt with what she dealt with, you'd need some fucking pills to sleep too!"

"Yeah I get that but…"

"But what?" He hisses, cutting me off.

"But I thought you were trying to help her?"

"Help her? Yeah well… that's a joke. She won't _let me_ help her…"

"Then why try?"

"Why? _Why?_ Because I made a promise to a friend…" Mike semi-explains. He must see the confused look on my face, trying to figure out another piece of this clusterfuck puzzle, because he continues the explanation. "He called me a couple hours before he swallowed the bullet and made me promise… made me promise I'd take care of her. I should have known… I should have come down here and – " Mike stops, visibly choked up. Wow, that's the first time I have ever seen this guy show any emotion other then anger and rage – at least sober anyway.

"Hey man, it's not your fault… he was sick…" I offer, as if it's some sort of consolation.

"Whatever." He shrugs it off but I can tell that he's upset.

I can also tell there is nothing that I can say and chances are if I tried, he's just going to get mad at me… I don't really wanna get punched in the head in the off season. That might be hard to explain to the brain doctors so I let him walk away and leave me standing in the middle of the dining room holding a container of pills.


End file.
